Little White Lies
by freelancechik21
Summary: Summary: Darien Shields was the last man on earth Serena Tsukino wanted to marry. He was arrogant, overbearing, and well, just plain grumpy! But her grandfather was determined to see her settled down with a husband, and telling him she had married Darien
1. Chapter 1

Little White Lies

Summary: Darien Shields was the last man on earth Serena Tsukino wanted to marry. He was arrogant, overbearing, and well, just plain grumpy! But her grandfather was determined to see her settled down with a husband, and telling him she had married Darien seemed to put his mind at ease…

As far as Darien was concerned, if Serena had told everyone she was his wife—then that's what she would be! Serena was about to find out that it didn't matter how small, or white, the lie was—you always paid for it in the end.

A/N: I own none of the characters duh…..first fanfic so be kind. Constructive criticism appreciated.

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Chapter 1

"Darling, Darien," Jean Shields gushed patting her grandnephew's hand. "Here comes the angel I've been telling you about." From her usual place at the far end of the yacht's ten-foot dining table, the elderly woman clad in a green sweat suit and a yellow-feathered boa, beckoned with a bejeweled hand toward Serena. "Come here, my dear."

Serena's stride faltered as she entered the dining salon, and she prayed her misstep had gone unnoticed. The second occupant at the table could have been none other than the "great and powerful" president and CEO of Shields, Inc., Darien Shields. The newspaper photos she'd seen of him didn't do the man justice.

The complete opposite of his flighty great-aunt, he was clad in clothes that were sedate yet in vogue. His lightweight cashmere jacket was an icy blue, fitting precisely across stunningly wide shoulders. His cotton shirt was of the ultra-expensive Italian variety, and his abstract-print tie no doubt cost more than the entire complement of the yacht crew's uniforms.

Since the dining table was topped by a rare piece of etched glass, she could see that his long legs were stretched nearly the width of the table. He wore gray slacks and matching wing tips. Entirely, utterly elegant.

He glanced her way at his aunt's prodding. His strong features closed a bit, going from amusement at one of Jean's offbeat quips to mildly curious. His eyes, a deep, rich blue, narrowed, but his dashing smile didn't waver.

Serena just stared. That grin dimpled his cheeks. It was and intriguing, crooked grin, masculine—gorgeous in newspaper photos, but almost frighteningly so in person. It occurred to her that she'd never seen eyes so vividly blue as his, or lashes quite so long. And that neatly trimmed mane of hair. She'd known it was black from his photographs, but now, in his presence, his hair glistened and had somewhat of a shimmer do to the sunlight.

_How could she ever have bragged to her poor, sickly grandfather that this paragon of male beauty was her husband! She should have her tongue ripped out for such a brash lie! They weren't in the same universe, let alone the same league—matrimonially speaking! He'd probably marry some countess or movie star. Not an untidy cook, for heaven's sake._

"There's my little kitchen saint." Jean smile, patting the general vicinity of the curls of one of her numerous wigs. This model, Serena liked to think of as the "Cher". Totally unfit for a woman of seventy, it was a frightful riot of brown ringlets that stood out in frothy chaos around her unlined, plump face. Still, she carried off her bizarre dress code with the sweet aplomb of those who don't concern themselves with the small-minded of the world. Aunt Jeannie, as she liked to be called, loved life, loved her grandnephew, herself, everybody else, and her two spoiled pugs—not necessarily in that order. "Why Darien," she exuded, "on Serena's diet, in just four weeks my womanly hormones have shot up to lethal levels." She winked. "I'm a deadly catch now. You just wait and see."

Darien's grin grew wry as he eyed the mandarin salad on the luncheon tray Serena was carrying. "Am I to assume that by the end of this cruise I'll be singing soprano?"

He was looking directly at her now, and she found herself tongue-tied. Though she knew his remarks had been joking, she couldn't seem to get her lips to form a grin. All she could manage was a wide-eyed stare as his glance raked her slender form, from her white deck shoes upward to the tailored, thigh-length shorts and on past her knit shirt to the fresh blush on her cheeks.

"Silly, silly boy," Jeannie admonished, filling the breach with health titter. "A little Soya flower and red clover sprouts would never stand a chance against the raging masculinity of your hormones."

Serena felt an awkward thrill at the mention of his masculinity. She had to agree with Aunt Jeannie. Darien Shields didn't appear to be in imminent danger of losing much ground in _that_ area merely by eating a little "pasture food".

She managed to clear her throat, and belatedly offered, "I-I'll prepare whatever type of dishes you want, sir. I can do steak and potatoes, too."

A well-shaped brow rose as he took in that information. "I'm gratified to hear that." He turned toward his aunt, apparently dismissing her from his mind. She felt that vaguest sense of being chastised, as though it should go without saying that the Shields's would never hire a chef who couldn't do anything asked of her. Or should she feel complimented that he naturally assumed she was completely capable? The man's ambiguous manner was probably one of the reasons he was so successful. He had a gift for keeping rivals off-balance.

Aunt Jeannie waved airily toward Serena. "Come over here, dear. Meet my contrary grandnephew." She grazed his square jaw with her fingers. "I simply couldn't let him leave on his little cruise without seeing him for a few fleeting minutes. If I didn't have that important bingo tournament, I'd stay on board and go with you." She sighed with all the theatrics of a dying Camille. "Darien so rarely visits me, I can hardly recall his face."

_How could anyone forget that face!_ Serena's mind cried—those firm, sensual lips, that stubborn jaw, and the almost supernatural beauty of those dark lashes and handsome mane of hair. She chewed the inside of her cheek, hoping her expression betrayed nothing of her wayward thoughts.

Darien was grinning at his great-aunt. "You fraud. Do really think you'd rather have a lapdog than an income?"

Aunt Jeannie threw back her head and guffawed, both pudgy hands going up to hold her heavy wig in place. "Touché," she chortled. "But I must say, I wonder how you can really be running the company when all I ever see of you is that rakish face in the Miami papers with yet another society nymphet." She shook a ringed finger at him. "And there's the core of the very predicament I must discuss with you, my dear. Your reputation as a playboy and your tyrannical ways with you board of directors is becoming a sticky issue I think you must address."

Serena couldn't see Darien's face, but had a feeling he'd stopped smiling. Jean beckoned to Serena again. "Come here, dear, you be the impartial judge."

Serena hesitated. She knew Jean got quirky ideas into her head, and she had a feeling this wasn't one of her best. "I—I…"

She had no chance to complete her thought for Darien shifted to face her, his jaw working. It was clear he didn't have any intention of his yacht's chef sitting in judgment of him. With a thickly polite smile, he said, "Just leave the lunches, Miss…"

She swallowed. "Tsukino. Ms. Tsukino."

He nodded dismissively. "_Ms._ Tsukino. I'm sure you have duties to attend to."

A dog grunted loudly from his sprawled position between Aunt Jeannie and Darien. Reaching down to pat at it, Aunt Jeannie huffed, "Jade, you're so right. If that's to be Darien's attitude, I don't know what I can do for him." Directing herself back to her grandnephew, she scolded, "You realize of course that Seiya Braxton has most of you cousins quite charmed. Even though you own forty-one percent of the company stock, I'm beginning to worry about you ability to hold on to control—even with my five percent solidly behind you. You are aware that Seiya and his father before him have been loyal company men, and to be utterly frank, the board is simply frightened of you. _Yes_," she admonished with a nod so strong her wig skewed down over her eyes. Righting it, she added, "I repeat—_frightened_. They fell you've bullied them into over—er—exercising in—in a poor envelope—"

Darien frowned at his aunt. "I can see Seiya has been lecturing you, too. But I believe you mean, overextending in a poor economy. And that aggressive tactic," he counseled softly, "along with an excellent product line, is exactly what had made us the success we are."

Jeannie shrugged. "Well, Seiya is loudly touting the need for caution. That appeals to the board right now. If I were you, I'd not take my warning lightly. I know, Darien, dear, you've rarely sought or accepted advice, and you're a loner due to you family's dreadful…" She faltered, looked pained, then regained her poise. "Well, anyway, just listen to me when I say, _at least_ promise that you'll look into more conservative strategies. And for heaven's sake, get that handsome face of yours out of the gossip columns. If you don't expend more energy charming the board and less charming the ladies, for the first time in the company's history, someone outside the family will be elected Chief Executive Officer."

Serena was placing the salads and Jean's pot of ginseng coffee substitute on the table as swiftly as possible. She knew this conversation was none of her business, and she shouldn't be party to it. From the look on Darien's face, it was clear he was working hard to keep his anger under control.

She forced her eyes down and purposefully closed her features. But this new development was intriguing. Could Darien Shields be on the verge of toppling from his majestic seat at the head of Shields Inc.? Well, if _her_ plan succeeded, she just might help topple him!

When she straightened, preparing to go, Darien's gaze snagged hers, and she was struck by the impact. His eyes were dazzling in his irritation, lie fire-lit sapphires. Managing a weak, employee smile, she murmured, "Will there be anything else?" She breathed a sigh of relief that her voice sounded so placid. She was certainly not placid. She was staring into Darien Shield's sparkling gaze, wishing his _opponent_ all the luck in the world. As far as she was concerned, the Shields's were where they were because they'd crawled over the backs of innocents. Maybe it was time they took a hard fall from grace and somebody outside the family grabbed the reins of the company. She was all for that!

"Nothing else, right now," he told her coolly. When she'd turned to go, he added, "And nothing further from you, either, Aunt Jeannie. You know under my management the company has had a major profit increase every year for the past five years. Braxton's chief talent is his knack for exploiting situations. He's a slimy little yes-man, and if he gets board approval, I swear he'll bring this company to its knees in two years—"

"Oh, that reminds me," Jeannie interrupted in an airy trill. "Serena, dear, you neglected to tell us what you've prepared for the rest of our meal."

She was taken aback. Jeanne didn't seem to register that she'd just been soundly reprimanded by her grandnephew and that food had nothing at all to do with the subject they'd been discussing.

Wishing she could escape to calm down and absorb what she had learned, she slowly turned back. She tried to address Aunt Jeannie, the Shields who'd hired her, yet her gaze drifted awkwardly toward Darien. His mouth set in a firm line, his nostrils flaring with outrage. He obviously didn't care a twit about what they were having for lunch. Taking a calming breath, she began, "Steamed clams with a buttery flour roux, seasoned with chopped parsley, green onions and fresh herbs…"

She went on to describe the meal by rote, anxious to get away. This was the most tedious part of her job, but Aunt Jeannie relished the telling. Unfortunately, Serena was having a hard time keeping her mind on the menu. Her glance was drawn again to Darien's ebony mane of hair. It looked thick, yet fine. She imagined it would be wonderful beneath her fingers—to stroke and pat.

"We're having _hair_ for dessert?" Jeannie cried, horrified.

The aghast tone drew Serena back to what she was supposed to be doing. "I beg your pardon?" she asked, not sure she'd heard right.

Darien sat back, his expression skeptical. "My aunt doesn't seem to be thrilled with the idea of eating hair for dessert." His eyes had lost some of their angry glitter, and Serena had a vague fear that he was amused by her slip of the tongue. She had an awful feeling he'd had people surreptitiously admire his dark shimmering hair before—never making quite the fool of themselves as she had, however.

Clearing her throat and feeling irritation at herself for her slip, she backpedaled. "I—er—said—Rasp-beeeeeerrr-y—Raspberry yogurt tarts. You must have misunderstood me." It was a transparent lie, but her pride forced her to try it.

"Ah," Darien murmured with a slow nod. "I'm sure that was it."

Serena faced him, cringing inwardly. His eyes had narrowed further, and he didn't appear all that amused any longer. He wasn't buying it, and obviously didn't appreciate her weak fib. He had some nerve to disapprove of lies, considering his father's, and probably _his_, business practices! With great effort, she kept her dark thoughts to herself and dragged her eyes from his.

It upset her to realize her hands were shaking and she clutched them together. She lied badly—even small, unimportant ones. This man could read people, see through lies. He was not one to be trifled with, and Serena had a sneaking dread that trying to put anything over on him would be very dangerous, if not impossible.

"Oh, good!" Jeannie exclaimed. "Raspberry yogurt tarts are a favorite of Opal's." Reaching down, she caressed the squashed-in nose of her female pug, lounging on her other side. "I do hope you've made extra."

Serena nodded, backing away. Though she was ignoring Darien with all her might, she knew his gaze was riveted on her, taking in her humiliation. "There are plenty of tarts," she mumbled.

Forcing herself to meet Darien's gaze one again, she asked, "Would you like coffee now, or with desert?"

"Now." He crossed his arms over his chest, adding softly, "Sugar."

She hesitated. He'd called her _sugar!_ She felt and upwelling of indignation. "Excuse me, Mr. Shields," she objected, "but I must insist you call me Ms. Tsukino."

He'd turned away, but when she made her staunch, if a bit tremulous demand, he shifted back. This time his eyes grew openly amused, and his mouth quirked to display a flash of teeth. "Forgive me for offending your sense of propriety, _Ms. _Tsukino. However, I meant, I take sugar in my coffee."

She blushed fiercely. Wishing she were dead, she could only manage a stiff nod before pivoting away. He'd merely anticipated her next question when he's said "sugar," she'd taken it wrong. She wondered what demented quirk of her mind had made her do that. Now he probably believed she thought he was irresistible or something. Well, he couldn't be more wrong!

Without paying much attention to her surroundings, she hurried through the luxurious dining area and connecting salon. Always before, she'd enjoyed gazing around that bright, open space, alive with indirect sunlight and pale tones. Deep-pile, beige carpeting ran the fifty-foot length of the dining and salon area. Maple and ash wood had been washed by a white stain to emphasize the grain. Touches of lively cinnamons, greens, and vermilions from artwork and sculptures warmed and humanized the room. She loved the room—usually—but right now she saw none of its beauty. All she could see was Darien Shields's taunting grin. _Oh, what an idiot she'd made of herself!_

The yacht's sparkling and spacious galley was tucked into the port side of the main deck. Glancing absently out the window over the sink, she noticed clouds rolling in. Too bad. The weather had been so nice for the past month. She wondered if the rain clouds were a foreboding of bad things to come. No, _no_—that was just her guilt getting to her again. She mustn't dwell on it.

Stirring the clam sauce, she nervously peered at her watch, deciding she had a few more minutes before Aunt Jeannie rang for the main course. She'd been the yacht's chef for over a month, and she hadn't been found out, yet. But the thought of trying to deceive a man as perceptive as Mr. Shields made her go weak in the knees.

No matter how impossible the obstacles seemed, she was determined to clear her grandfather's name before he died. The sweet man had lived too many years with a cloud over his reputation. Unfortunately she was no closer to her objective that she had been four weeks ago when she'd started working for Jean. And things weren't looking a bit better for her now that her "bridegroom" had entered the picture.

She'd never done anything even mildly underhanded before, and she didn't know if she could continue to get away with her wild fabrication—having to look into Darien Shields's shrewd eye day after day…

She shook off the foolish thought. He might be what the news magazines called "a genius in the business industry," but he was no mind reader. If she was careful, he couldn't possible find her out before she sprang her trap. She just had to bide her time, pretend to have nothing more on her mind than her cooking, and continue to force herself to act like a compliant employee.

Poor Grandpa Aquino was in such fragile health. His doctor had warned her that he probably had only months left to live. Serena had decided that just in case she couldn't find out the truth in time, she could at least make his final days happy. So she'd called him with the Big Lie—that as the _Silver Cat's_ chef, she'd met and married Darien Shields. What harm, she'd reasoned, could a few cheering phone calls do?

When her butter roux sauce began to thicken, she took it off the flame and eyed her watch again. This delicate sauce was like a hothouse flower. It didn't languish well. She hoped Aunt Jeannie would ring soon.

Rather than torture herself with wild fantasies of discovery, Serena decided she'd be better of thinking positively. She still marveled at her good luck. Twenty-two years old and just out of the Culinary Art Institute of America, she hadn't been the most experienced applicant Jean had interviewed. Shaking her head, she once again thanked providence for her good fortune. It seemed the older woman had so many health concerns, she'd had a hard time find a chef who could keep up with them. However, since healthy eating was one of Serena's top priorities, she'd found favor with Aunt Jeannie right away.

She'd taken the job thinking of all the Shields's as grasping, greedy snobs, but she'd grown to like Aunt Jeannie and felt bad about her deception. She didn't think Jean Shields had been a party to the conspiracy to frame her grandfather and hated the thought of hurting her.

But that might be a moot point now. She'd been stuck on the yacht all month, nowhere near any file where she might get the answers to how her grandfather had been framed and financially ruined.

As she arranged food on the luncheon plates, she thought again of how poor, sweet Mikou had never even defended himself when Damon made his accusations of mismanagement. The harsher term Damon used had been "embezzlement." He'd offered to buy Mikou's half of the company stock for a fair but bargain price, and in return he wouldn't press charges.

Mikou had been the automotive designer, a sensitive artist, not a hard-nosed businessman like Damon Shields. He's merely assumed he'd done something stupid and accepted his firing, sold his stock for Damon's price—stock that today was worth millions of dollars.

It had been Mikou's daughter, Serena's mother, who'd complained to Serena year after year that she was sure Mikou had been framed by Damon Shields, conniving to get the whole company to himself.

After all this time, Serena's mother was dead and gone, and Mikou was dying. If her grandfather's reputation were to be cleansed, it had to be now—had to be by Serena—so he could know it before he died. She only hoped that after this cruise to the Caymans, she'd have a chance to work in the Miami mansion and get access to some old company books she'd heard were stored in the basement.

The green call light flashed on, startling Serena. She untied her apron and put it aside, then picked up the silver tray. Having a thought, she set it back down to scan herself in the stainless-steel refrigerator door. She grimaced, grateful she'd checked. Taking a damp kitchen towel, she swiped at a brown splotch on her breast pocket where the ship's name was embroidered with silver thread. When it didn't leave a stain she breathed a sigh of relief.

Tucking away a stray strand of light blonde hair back into her ponytail at her nape, she shook her head at her murky reflection. At moments like this she wished she were just a little neater at her job. But neat or not, she was a good chef. That's what counted. Aunt Jeannie had rarely ventured into the galley, anyway. And Serena always left the place spotless when the day's work was done. So what was the harm of a little clutter?

Sucking in an apprehensive breath, she retrieved the tray and headed abaft along the narrow hall toward the dining salon. She was startled to see Opal, Aunt Jeannie's female pug, shuffling her way. She grinned wanly at the sweet-natured pet. "He makes you nervous too, huh?" she whispered

When Opal snorted in seeming response, Serena couldn't help suppress a melancholy chuckle.

They'd headed out to sea an hour ago, and the ocean was getting rougher and rougher. Serena swallowed, feeling a tinge of seasickness, and prayed it would quickly pass. She'd rarely been seasick, but the waters had always been calm until now. Or maybe it was just knowing that the crafty Mr. Shields was so near that was making her feel sick. As she wiped the countertops, she tried desperately to get her mind off her queasy stomach and on tonight's menu.

What would a fire-eating tyrant eat? Raw meat? Nails? After a month of preparing dishes of bean sprouts and tofu, she was going to have to switch gears quickly. _Ah_, she thought perversely, _maybe, for dessert tonight, he'd like an arsenic apple!_

"Ms. Tsukino?" came a deep voice from the vicinity of the galley entrance.

Serena jerked about, startled that a fire-eating tyrant could move so silently. "Yea—yes, sir?" Heat rushed up her cheeks at her recent wayward thoughts and she hoped once again that his keen gaze couldn't penetrate her brain.

He was lounging against the doorjamb and had changed into blue chambray shorts that displayed his long legs to perfection. His washed-cotton shirt matched exactly. Except for the color, he looked surprisingly like one of the crew. Quite diplomatic of him, Serena mused caustically. A tiny, inner voice said, _Nice legs too—tanned, muscular…_ She worked at ignoring the voice. Darien Shields's legs were none of her business—no matter what she'd told her grandfather about being his blushing bride.

"What the hell happened in here?" he asked, his gaze critical as it shifted around the room.

She fought down a surge of nausea, and clung to the locker handle. She was going to be sick, and his accusing tone wasn't doing her stomach any good. "I—I was just getting a mop," she mumbled, feeling dizzy.

"That's very optimistic. Personally, I'd opt for a bulldozer." His glance fell to a brown puddle of sauce that had dribbled from the countertop to the floor. "Ms. Tsukino," he'd admonished, "with the seas this rough, you could slip on that muck and kill yourself. I've got enough on my mind. I don't need—" He bit off his remark, seeming preoccupied. Maybe he was more disturbed about this Seiya Braxton problem than he'd let on to Jean. "Never mind," he said less harshly. "I just came in for some coffee." He walked to the coffeemaker, got down a mug and poured himself some.

"You could call for coffee, sir."

"I was passing by." He added a teaspoon of sugar, turned to go, then faced her again. "I won't

tell you your job, Ms. Tsukino. I'm sure you're very good or my aunt wouldn't have hired you." He indicated the galley. "But try not to kill yourself or anyone else."

She nodded, swallowing hard. Her seasickness was getting worse by the second.

He peered closely at her. "Do you feel alright?"

"The seas are—uh—a little rough," she offered honestly.

"You should take something."

She blinked. Had she detected a hint of actual humanity in his tone? Surely not! Avoiding the urge to clutch her cramping stomach, she managed, "Yes, sir." She squared her shoulders with effort. "And don't worry. The galley will be shipshape in and hour."

He raised a brow, as though dubious that such a feat were possible even if she'd felt perfect.

"Feel free to come back and check," she blurted, his doubtful silence pricking her pride.

For a moment he studied her with watchful eyes. She had a feeling he was trying to reach into her mind. Offering him a fake smile, she hoped it would throw him off the scent. She knew her tone had been snappish, and he no doubt wondered why. She certainly didn't want him to discover her true feelings for him or the real reason she was working here. After a few seconds he shrugged dismissively, probably deciding her shortness had been because she didn't feel well. "All right, Ms. Tsukino, since you insist, I'll see you in an hour." As suddenly and silently as he had appeared, he was gone.

Serena's stomach lurched, and she gave the empty door a sour look. She had an urge to call after him and tell him she had _not_ insisted, and if she never say him again it would be fine with her! But she was afraid to open her mouth. She only longed to be alive an hour.

whew…that was longer than I thought…sorry. anyways tell me what you think so far. I'll have the second chap up if I get good reviews, otherwise I'll just quit while I'm behind.


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks for the reviews….little ler, liloazngurl03, carby6, inunkag4ever…as asked here's the next chap.

A/N: Yeah don't own the characters yadda, yadda, yadda….here's chapter 2

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Chapter 2

Dramamine gave Serena violent hiccups, and seasickness patches blurred her vision so badly she could hardly see. So, not long ago she'd resorted to borrowing some prescription seasick medication from Andrew, one of the ship's stewards. The pill had been like a miracle drug, and Serena was no longer hiccupping or seeing double. She was, however, feeling a little odd.

She checked her watch. It was past time for Mr. I'll-I'll-Take-That-Dare to come back and inspect her galley, which was now spotless as she'd promised it would be. Well, she simply couldn't wait around for him any longer. It was time for the captain's mint tea.

She headed out of the galley, gripping the handrail, working to shake off a sudden fuzzy-headedness. The sea was rough, and she almost missed a step. Luckily, she managed no to spill a drop of tea. She giggled, then sobered. What was funny about that?

Mounting the top step to the pilothouse, she was appalled to see Mr. Shields standing beside the yacht's portly captain, Ken Mamou. Captain Mamou was forever on a diet, and constantly hungry. So, Serena brought him his daily sugar high—a glass of mint tea with three spoonfuls of sugar. She knew it wasn't good for him, but it kept him from downing an entire box of Oreos, his usual afternoon snack. It seemed the lesser of two evils.

"Ah, my tea," Ken bellowed, his jowly face brightened when he saw a stiff-backed Serena approach.

She couldn't understand why it looked like such a long distance from the stairs to the control panel where the two men stood. The last time she'd been up there it had only been a few feet away.

With measured steps, she inched her way toward them. Gone was the rich, hand-rubbed wood paneling Serena remembered. She found herself moving through what seemed to be a long, narrow shaft. Blinking several times, she tried to regain her perspective. What in heaven's name was wrong?

Darien was watching her closely, as though he thought she'd grown and extra head. She heard a giggle and frowned. Neither Captain Mamou nor Mr. Shields appeared to be likely candidates for a fit of giggles. She peered at them both. Neither was even smiling now.

When she finally made the ghastly length of the pilothouse and handed Captain Mamou his tea, she breathed a sigh. What a chore that had been. With a tentative nod toward her nemesis, Mr. Shields, she said, "If I'd know you were going to be here, sir, I'd have brought you some, too, _tea_."

He assessed her with a curious frown. "Are you all right, Miss Tsukino?"

She took a deep breath, determined not to allow this insufferable, self-important playboy to intimidate her. "If you'll notice, Mr. Shields…" She poked him in the chest, noting a peculiar expression flash across his face. "I am no longer a messy galley! So there!" She took a step back, but the rolling sea caused her to lurch sideways, barely missing the captain's drinking arm. "Oops," Serena murmured, shaking her head. "That was a close on, Skipper." She couldn't control a peal or laughter, and for the life of her, she couldn't figure out why. "Mustn't—mustn't make a messy. Mr. Meanie wouldn't like that."

"Ms. Tsukino. Have you been drinking?" Darien asked, his handsome features closed in displeasure.

She screwed up her face to think. Why was thinking so hard? "Let's see…" She tapped her nose. "Have you been drinking…" She shook her head. "Yes, I have. I had a glass of Pine-ippi-poop…" She stopped herself and burst out laughing. "Pipple-poopie…" Still tittering, she shrugged. "What was the question?"

Darien's mouth set grimly, he looked at her for a long moment. When he spoke, his accusation was edged with steel. "Damn it, Ms. Tsukino, you're drunk."

Affronted by such slander, her spine went ramrod stiff. "How daaaaaaaaareyou—you…" Throwing up her hands in offense, she almost upended herself. "I don't have to _land_ here and _stisten_ to this!" With considerable effort controlling her motor skills, she managed to do little more than remain erect. With effort, she got her body to begin a disdainful turn, but lost her balance on the unsteady deck. She instinctively grabbed for a handhold, missed and went sprawling to her knees.

"_Damn it_, Tsukino!" Darien grasped her arm and hoisted her up. She gaped drunkenly at him. He was so tall—at least fifteen feet tall. And he sounded as though he was talking through a megaphone. She scrunched up her eyes to try to better make out his face. He was quite handsome, for a bully, even so far away. She was sorry he was such a bad, bad boy. "Hi," she breathed. "How's the weather up there, big guy?" She burst into a fit of giggles.

"Can you walk?" he asked.

"Suuuuuuuuuuure. Been doin' it for years," she assured him with a nonchalant wave as she dropped back to her knees. "No—problem."

She felt herself being lifted away from the deck and sighed with the exhilarating rush she felt—like going up, up, up on a Ferris wheel. "Wheeeeee," she squealed, grabbing at something solid. When she looked more closely, she realized she was clutching Darien Shields' substantial neck. That neck attached to a lovely square jaw. She scrutinized that jaw, sniffing. He smelled like a clean, summer night. Snuggling closer, she allowed her gaze to roam upward. After a moment of regarding his strong-boned face, she declared, "You have a teeny-weeny scar on your bottom lip."

He was frowning. "Thank you for that bulletin."

She traced the scar with her finger. It was hardly noticeable. "Kissy, kissy, make it aaaaaall better," she whispered, then brushed his mouth with hers. As their lips met, she registered and odd tingling warmth rush through her body, a strange sensation, but nice. They'd been moving somewhere. Suddenly, they weren't moving anymore. She drew away, sighing. "Whew! It's hot in here." There seemed to be something different in his eyes, but she couldn't quite tell what it was. She squinted looking closer. "Are you hot, Dare? I'm reaaaaal hot."

He cleared his throat and muttered brusquely, "I'm locking up the cooking sherry."

They were moving again. She grinned up at him. "And did you knoooow," she went on, tracing his lip, "that when you're mad your teeny-weeny scar turns white. Teeny-weeny white baby scar. How did you hurt yourself?" Her eyes lolled back to focus on his intense blue gaze, now flashing with exasperation. "Noooo, don't tell me. Let me guess. You were scuba-diving and you attacked a shark that was littler than yoooooou." Her giggle took her as much by surprise as it did the man carrying her. "Big, bad, sharkie, Darien Shields, the Great White."

"I see you read the _Wall Street Journal,_" he muttered.

"I looooooove to read," she giggled, hugging him close. "You know what I don't like though?"

"Sobriety?"

"Right." She shook her head. "Lobsters. I _hate_ them. You know why? Cause we have to cook em alive. I always cried when I had to murder a lobster at C.I.A." A torrent of desolation engulfed her and she blinked back tears. "I—I told Aunt Jeannie I couldn't do that. I can't murder any more lobsters. They scream. Did you know that? I can't. I just can't!" She clutched his shoulders, pleading, "Don't make me _off_ any more lobsters!"

"I'll put in a call to the senator."

She wiped away a tear and, with trembling lips, smiled. "Good—reprieve all the lobsters."

Her hips touched something heavenly. Clouds?

"You may let go of me now, Ms. Tsukino."

Serena looked about her, not recognizing her surroundings. "Where am I? Dead?"

"No, but you may wish you were in a few hours," he replied with a heavy sigh. "This is my suite."

She blinked, taking note of the elegance of the bedroom. It was true. She was in the yacht's master suite, lounging on the oversize island bed. Dramatic hidden spotlights muted and warmed the luxurious décor of earth tones—rich green and browns. A bank of large windows loomed before her, giving the suite a panoramic view of dark, choppy seas.

Disoriented and confused, she turned to frown into Mr. Shields's eyes, so near her face. They were wonderful eyes, even narrowed as they were. Was he angry or troubled? She shook her head, feeling muddled. "What did you say?" she mumbled, wondering why her lips refused to work properly.

"You may let go of me now. You're safe on my bed," he repeated slowly as though she were a two-year-old.

She sluggishly snaked her hands away from his shoulders, peering about the opulent suite. Low, seductive music was playing somewhere, seeming to enfold the bed in blatant sensuality.

She became still, instantly suspicious. Mr. Shields had sounded a little short of breath. Was it unbridled passion? Was this master playboy seducing her? The creep! She lifted a foot and placed it squarely against his chest. "Mr. Shields. I'm no babe in the crowd. I'm twenty-twooooo. I've heard of sexual harmony-ment—er—harass-mony—uh…"

"Harassment," he corrected thinly. "So have I."

"You admit it—you, you bastard! Shamey—shaaaaame on you!" In a shocked whisper, she asked, "Do you reeeeeeally thin your _body_ will buy my _money_?" She winced. Had that come out right?

He straightened to his full height. With a shake of his dark head, he looked down at her, his expression closed. "I don't expect you to understand this, in your condition, but since I don't know which of the crew's quarters below decks is yours, I brought you here. When you've sobered up, I hope you don't remember this conversation—for you own sake. For now, I suggest you sleep it off."

"Sweet talk will do you no good," she chided with a superior smirk. Lounging back on unsteady elbows, she demanded, "Now, I must ask you to get out before I call the poli-pice!" She flung out an arm, toppling on her side. "I'm _stummed_ at you for trying to seduce my personal—person. I am a woman on a mission, I can't be bought!"

He pursed his lips. "I'm sure that's a commendable trait in a dipsomaniac." He regarded for a moment, his expression going pensive, almost compassionate. Then, with an impatient oath, his brows drew together in a fierce scowl. "Ms. Tsukino. You're fired."

She frowned, bewildered. When she'd blinked a couple of times, he was gone. She struggled up to a sitting position. Numbly she scanned the room with eyes that could no longer focus. Why was she sprawled in Darien Shields's suite? Had he actually been there a minute ago, or had she imagined it? And most worrisome of all, why did she have a heavy feeling in her gut—as though she'd just failed something or somebody? Shaking her head, she sank to her back. Well, at least she wasn't seasick.

Serena sat up with a start. She had a pounding headache, and she'd just had the worse nightmare of her life! She'd dreamed that for some demented reason she'd actually kissed Darien Shields. Then she'd soundly chastised _him_ for making advances on her, and thrown him out of her room!

Rubbing her eyes, she swung her legs over the side of her bed, or at least tried to. But there was no side. Her legs were still flat on the bed. Befuddled, she glanced about. Her confusion increased as she discovered she was sitting on a huge bed, a bed that was anchored in the middle of an equally huge bedroom.

She bit her lip as she scanned the place. The walls were a warm, paneled teakwood with mirrored inserts. To her right she saw a set of tall, beveled-glass-fronted bookshelves beside a built-in entertainment system. To her left, between a couple of doors, sat a beige sofa.

There was an expensive-looking stone Egyptian head mounted in a backlit alcove behind her, and on various built-in chests located about the room, there were striking metal sculptures. She glanced up. The ceiling was solid brass so highly polished she could see her own baffled expression. Lowering her gaze, she stared directly out a wide expanse of curved windows to see the yacht's bow dipping and rising in a buffeting, white-capped sea. She swallowed, feeling a creeping unease snake up her spine. There was no getting around it. This was definitely the yacht's master suite.

The bed upon which she lounged was covered in a heavy green-on-green embossed silk. Scrambling from the mattress, she edged toward a door that stood ajar. Pushing it open, she discovered one of the two master bedroom heads. The room was lined with deep green marble, countertops, Jacuzzi tub and all. Cabinetry was polished teak, and the basin and fixtures were gold. She gasped at the opulence of it, then backed out. How had she gotten here?

With a fearful weakness engulfing her limbs, she sank onto the settee. _Oh, my God_, her mind screamed as memories began to flood back. It hadn't been a nightmare at all. She'd actually…

She groaned, placing her head in her hands. She really had _kissed_ Darien Shields. _And he really had fired her!_

Lifting teary eyes to stare unseeingly at the raging ocean, she had to admit she couldn't blame him. She shouldn't have taken Andrew's pill. Obviously she'd had a bad reaction to it.

Her stomach knotted with devastation by all she'd lost because of a stupid mistake. Halfheartedly, she blinked to clear her vision, focusing on her watch. It was six o'clock. Dinner should have been started and hour ago. And fired or not, the captain and crew—and onboard tyrant—had to eat. With a wretched exhale, she pushed up and then was very sorry she had. She wasn't feeling well. The pill had worn off, and seasickness was overtaking her again.

She supposed she'd have to resort to Dramamine. Hiccups at least left her with her mental capacities intact. As soon as she got dinner on, she promised herself she'd seek out Darien Shields and apologize. She could just imagine his displeasure, and didn't relish facing him. Ever since she'd seen that arrogant, handsome face, she'd wanted nothing else but to get as far away from him and her foolhardy lie as she could. But for her grandfather's sake, she couldn't allow herself to be a coward, couldn't just run away. She had to try to finish this thing once and for all

Her idea had seemed do right and uncomplicated in the beginning. She would simply get hired by the Shields's as a chef, then dig out the truth and clear her grandfather's name. Now she was going to have to go crawling to Mr. Shields asking for a second chance—a chance that, if granted, might eventually cause _his _downfall.

On top of her seasickness, she was starting to feel heaviness in her heart. She wasn't in the habit of deceiving people, _especially_ with the intent to do them mischief.

She forced herself to think about sweet, fragile Mikou—cheated out of so very much, lied about and disgraced. That image stiffened her spine and her resolve. Right after dinner she would face Mr. Shields and ask for her job back—even _beg_ if she had to.

The galley was behind the master suite, so not too far away. She hurried to it as quickly as her queasy stomach would allow. When she reached the door she was met with the aroma of chicken cacciatore. Even in her weakened condition, her trained nose told her it would taste delicious. Pushing open the door, she was startled to see Darien standing there; clad in the same blue pants and shirt he'd had on during their ruinous encounter three hours prior. He was slicing vegetables into a salad bowl.

At the sound of her entry, he glanced over his shoulder and scanned her with a critical eye. Serena swallowed, tamping down a feeling of culpability, and closed the door at her back.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

It startled her that he cared, considering he'd been reduced to helping with dinner because he thought his chef was a drunkard. She met his gaze with difficulty. Her head was pounding and her stomach had known better moments. Nevertheless, this had to be said and it had to be said now if she hoped to remain on the Shields staff. "I—I want to apologize, sir. I acted abominably early. But I can explain."

He reached up into a cabinet over the counter where he was working. Lifting out a small bottle, he handed it to her. "Here. Take one of these. It'll help."

She eyed the bottle with distrust, considering her track record with pills lately. "What is it?"

"It's the same thing Andrew gave you, but half the dosage. The scuttlebutt of you escapade in the pilothouse spread quickly, Ms. Tsukino. When Andrew heard about it he came to me and told me he'd given you some of his seasickness pills. I called his doctor in Miami, and he said for a woman of your size, you were overmedicated. He prescribed a half dosage."

She opened the lid and shook out a pill. It was, in fact, half a pill. "Who broke these?" she asked.

"I did."

Her gaze shot to meet his. He was frowning, but it didn't seem to be aimed at her. "Look, Ms. Tsukino," he began gravely; "I misjudged you this afternoon. I'm sorry."

"You—you mean I'm not fired?" She was stunned by this turn of events.

One corner of his mouth lifted, but it wasn't a happy expression. "I don't fire people for taking seasick medication."

A great weight was lifted off her shoulders. She wouldn't have to beg and grovel after all. "I appreciate it, sir," she said, experiencing an odd niggling of guilt. She hadn't expected him to actually be—nice.

With a warning lift of a brow, he cautioned, "It wasn't very bright of you to take medicine prescribed for a man who weighs two hundred and thirty pounds. I'd wager you weigh half that."

She decided it would be unwise of her ever to bet against Darien Shields. She weighed exactly half that. Embarrassed, she nodded. "Yes—it was pretty dumb." She didn't add that she had been desperate to find something to make her feel well enough to do her job. For a man who had just guessed her weight down to the ounce, he probably realized that.

"Better take a pill," he reminded.

Without meeting his gaze, she walked to the sink and fetching a glass from the cabinet, downed the medicine with some water.

"Hopefully, on the correct dosage, you won't be so willing to make my scars better," he remarked at her back.

She flushed fiercely at his reminder that she'd kissed him. _How could she have been so stupid! Clearly one of the most sinister side effects of the overmedicating on this seasick prescription was a temporary loss of sanity._ Curling her hands around the edge of the sink, she whispered, "I-I'm terribly sorry about that, Mr. Shields."

"Did your parents kiss you hurts to make them better?"

The somber way he'd asked the question surprised her and she turned to face him. "Of course. Didn't yours?"

His nostrils flared, as though she'd slapped him. He shifted his gaze to pick up a carrot. "Where are your parents now?"

She'd noticed he'd shifted the subject back to her, but decided not to mention it. "They died when I was fifteen—house fire. My grandfather—er—" She stopped herself. She'd just gotten out of trouble with this man. All she needed to do now was reveal the Big Lie! Realizing she'd better at least finish her thought so he wouldn't start wondering why she hadn't, she said, "My grandpa kissed the hurts away, too." She added silently, _And now I'm trying to ease a hurt for him that your family caused!_

"Where is your grandfather?" Darien asked, slicing a carrot into the bowl.

"Mr. Shields, please," she prompted, disconcerted that she'd completely failed in her duties this evening. "I should be doing that."

"You cut up the radishes." He indicated the last uncut vegetables.

Worrying the inside of her cheek, she moved up beside him and silently began to slice radishes. The yacht was pitching back and forth as it split the rampaging ocean waves. In order to keep from falling, Serena braced her legs shoulder-width apart. One of her sneakers accidentally butted up against Darien's. For some reason she resisted drawing her foot away. She hoped he didn't take any particular notice of the contact, but touching the solidness of his body made her feel more secure somehow. The last thing she wanted to do was tumble to the floor. Not after the fiasco of this afternoon. She'd made enough of a fool of herself for one day.

"Tell me about your grandfather, Ms. Tsukino," Darien said, interrupting her unruly train of thought.

His mellow, woodsy aftershave invaded her nostrils and became a pleasant addition to the aromas surrounding her. Forcing herself to concentrate on her work rather than the fact that her worst enemy was so pleasant-smelling and comfortably stable, she offered minimally, "Grandpa's in a rest home in Iowa." Wanting to get off that volatile subject and curious about something Aunt Jeannie had let slip about his family—something unhappy—she asked, "What about your folks?"

His fingers stilled in their action of slicing. "Gone. Boating accident when I was seven. But we weren't close."

She inspected his profile. His features had become hard, his tone tight. He looked as though he didn't plan to discuss is further. Taking the broad hint, she veered to a question she felt might be safer. "Who made the cacciatore?"

"I did."

She was surprised, assuming it had been one of the stewardesses. "You?"

Dropping the last carrot slice into the salad, he wiped his hands on a towel. "Some men do cook."

"Oh, I know that. Some of the best chefs are men. I—I just didn't know—I mean, you head up a big car company. I didn't think you'd have the time to cook."

"I don't have as much time as I'd like. But I enjoy cooking."

She glanced around, noticing for the first time that the galley was spotless. Apparently her expression mirrored her surprise, for he chuckled deeply. "It is possible to cook without wreaking havoc on the galley."

His remark stung. She couldn't tell if he'd meant to be condescending or not, but it fired her anger. Hard-pressed to keep a civil tongue in her mouth, yet mindful that she'd already been fired once today, she said only, "Temperaments differ, Mr. Shields. My method may be initially more—uh—maladroit—but in the end, we get the same results. A good meal and a clean galley."

He half grinned. "Maladroit? That's a very pretty word, but it still means sloppy."

Was he trying to provoke her? "What are you telling me, sir? Must I do it your way to remain employed here?"

He finished slicing the last carrot. Putting the knife down, he planted one hand on the countertop and leaned toward her. Their faces were inches apart, and Serena felt over warm. She could see that little scar on his lip very clearly, and realized she was blushing with the memory of his mouth pressed against hers. She prayed that the same thought wasn't going through his mind.

His expression didn't give much away, merely seemed inquiring. "Tell me, Ms. Tsukino," he began, his breath teasing her cheek, "have you actually brought up Aunt Jeannie's estrogen levels or is that one of her fanciful dreams that you're just going along with?"

Thrown off by his sudden closeness and abrupt change, Serena frowned, faltering. "Why—why, no. It's no _fanciful dream_. The _British Medical Journal_ had an article about a recent study where a group of women between fifty and seventy—"

"You read the _British Medical Journal_?" he broke in, his features easing into a skeptical grin.

The dashing smile sent a shudder of mixed emotions dancing through her. On the one hand, she was affronted by the obvious incredulity of his question, as though he thought she couldn't read anything more enlightening than a recipe book. On the other hand, that flash of perfect teeth, couple with the sexy sparkle in his eyes, made her insides quiver with female excitement. Since Darien Shields was her archenemy, it wasn't a good combination of emotions to feel, for she dared no act on either response if she hoped to accomplish her scheme.

Very conscious of his searching gaze and smarting from feeling any attraction at all for him, Serena sacrificed a need to voice a contemptuous retort. Clearing her throat, she counted to ten to calm herself. "I found the _British Medical Journal_ among the magazines at my dentist's office," she informed him. "I happened to have a long wait that day, so I read it."

He nodded, his grin wry, but undeniably charming. "Well, then, for Aunt Jeannie's flourishing estrogen level, I'll try to ignore the majority of your maladroitness."

_You're too kind!_ She screamed silently, though outwardly she smiled. "Why, thank you so much, Mr. Shields." It had come out strained. The sudden fading of Darien's grin told her he'd detected her contempt. She toyed uneasily with her lower lip. Was there nothing she could get by this intuitive man? _There'd better be_, she scolded herself. _Or you'll fail Grandpa and never get his name cleared._

The next day, the seas had grown calmer—an undulating palette of blues and greens basking beneath a bright October sun. It was mid-afternoon, and since dinner wasn't going to be complicated, Serena decided to try a gutsy move. Her grandfather had been asking for a picture of Darien and her together. Naturally there was no way she could do that, but she thought she might be able to sneak a quick snapshot of him.

Not long ago she'd heard him ext his shipboard office with its specially outfitted satellite communications center. He'd spent most of the cruise cloistered away there, wheeling and dealing and shouting, "Off with their heads," she supposed. She'd peeked down the hall to watch as he went out onto the covered aft deck to enjoy the first sunshine of the cruise.

With her inexpensive camera clutched in her fist, she headed through the salon toward the double smoked-glass doors that led there. She hoped he'd be standing out by the railing. That way she could take a picture through a crack between the doors and he'd never know about it.

She peered out. Good. There he was, beyond a shaded lounge area made up of elegant wicker furniture and a slate-topped table. He was near the railing, scanning the sea.

Today he was wearing white pants and a navy blue crew-neck shirt. His hair glistened in the sun as though diamonds were scattered throughout it, and his shoulders seemed too wide for even such a tall man to bear comfortably. Her gaze drifted to his classically handsome profile—the straight nose, jutting cheekbones and strong, stubborn chin.

He was frowning, in deep concentration. It would have been better if she could have caught him smiling. But those moments were few and far between, since he spent most of his time either in his office or with dark thoughts on his mind. Yet even with his features locked in a perpetual scowl, he was painfully handsome. With an irritating flutter in her chest, she raised the camera to snap the shot.

As she did, he turned in her direction. Squinting to better probe the relative darkness, he moved to lounge against the rail. "What are you doing?" he called rather gruffly.

God, he must have the ears and eyes of—of Superman! "I—I was just…" Realizing she had no choice, she stepped out onto the deck, lifting her camera. "I was just taking a picture of—of scenery." It was only half a lie, she told herself. There would have been scenery in the picture, too.

His features grew dubious as he plunged his hands into his pockets and crossed his ankles. He relaxed there silently for a moment, in a classy slouch straight out of the pages of some GQ magazine. While she took a long, calming breath, he finally said, "The scenery is empty ocean, Ms. Tsukino."

She winced, wishing she were a more experienced liar. "I know. It's just that I grew up in—er—a little town in Kansas." That was a lie. She'd never set foot in Kansas. But she'd heard it was flat there. "The ocean looks like the land around Prairie Village. Flat as far as the eye can see." She was thinking fast, maybe too fast, but she hurried on. "Except, of course, from Prairie Village the view's not water, it's—uh…"

"Prairie?" he helped, with a somewhat skeptical quirk of his lips.

Her cheeks blazed. "Something like that, yea."

"Do you want a picture for you grandfather?" he asked, startling her so badly she feared he'd figured out her entire nefarious plot. But when she gave herself a second to think about it, she knew it would seem natural for her to want to send her ailing grandfather a few pictures. Inhaling to steady her voice, she said, "Why—why, yes."

"Let me take one with you in it."

That wasn't quite what she had wanted. "Okay—if you let me get one with you in it."

A brow arched inquiringly. "Me?"

She lifted a shoulder, hoping the movement looked unconcerned. "I think my grandfather would like to see who I work for. I've already got lots of shots of Jean and her dogs." _Finally, the truth, for a change._

He strolled the long distance to where she was standing, taking her camera. "I'm sure he'd rather have one of you." Motioning toward the railing above the fishing cockpit, he said, "Stand over there in the sun."

She did as he asked, but didn't feel much like smiling. Maybe he didn't enjoy having his picture taken unless some drop-dead beauty was hanging on his arm. Well, she supposed she'd just have to try to sneak a picture, again, some other time.

"Smile, Ms. Tsukino. You look like a poster to save whooping cranes."

She forced a cheerful grin.

After he'd snapped the picture, he joined her by the railing. "There you go." Stretching out a strong, bronzed hand, he handed her back her camera. "I hope your grandfather likes it."

"You're sure I can't get a shot of you?" she tried halfheartedly.

"I don't take good pictures, Ms. Tsukino."

She gave up with a shrug. "That's true. Photographs don't do you justice."

His chuckle startled her. "They don't?"

She snapped her glance to his face. _Had she actually said that out loud?_ She sidled away from the rail, unnerved by his looming, amused presence. "Well—you're no simpleton, Mr. Shields," she retorted in her own defense. "I'm sure you know by now you're—rather good looking." _For a self-important, egotistical tyrant!_

His sparkling eyes held hers, and she chafed beneath his speculation. "Do you think I'm good-looking, Ms. Tsukino?" His lips quirked wryly.

She shuddered with humiliation. He was toying with her. "Some women would say so. P—personally, I prefer blonde men," she fibbed.

His eyes alight with mirth, he queried, "You do?"

She nodded, edging farther away. He was doing nothing overt to alarm her, merely standing there with his hands in his pockets, looking terribly alluring. He wasn't even smiling, not really. But she was feeling—not quite threatened—but something! How could his simply standing there answering her questions with questions, and watching her with those sparkling sapphire eyes, upset her so? _Good grief!_ She felt as though she were about to be devoured whole. What was worse, the experience was both thrilling and frightening at once. "I—I'd better be going," she managed weakly.

"Then I won't keep you, Ms. Tsukino."

He was openly laughing at her now. At least his eyes were. She wheeled away, feeling like fool once again.

"Ms. Tsukino," he called as she was about to escape through the double doors. She halted, loath the turn back, but knowing she must.

Letting the doors slip from her fingers, she reluctantly faced him. "Yes, sir?" she asked, her voice an awkward squeak.

He cocked his ebony head, indicating that she should come back.

On unwilling feet, she did as she was instructed. "What is it, Mr. Shields?" She wondered miserable if his plan was to keep up his mockery until her drove her to tears.

His gaze, narrowed by the brightness of the sun, was unreadable, but the grin he flashed was unexpectedly friendly. "What the hell. Take the damned picture for your grandfather. Anyone who'd kiss the hurts away, I'd probably like."

She was so shocked, it took her a few seconds of fumbling before she could get the camera to her face. Espying him through the viewfinder, she began to suffer an unanticipated bout of guilt. Here he was, being obliging, leaning against the railing, grinning at her, thinking he was doing a sick old man a kindness. And what was she going to do with this picture? She was going to send it along to her grandfather with the barefaced lie, _Here's my wonderful husband, Darien._

Snapping this photo was the most deceitful thing she'd done so far. Though she knew she was right in being here, right in trying to clean the stain from her grandfather's reputation, she suddenly didn't like herself very much.

"Is there a problem, Ms. Tsukino? You seem—"

"No!" she cried. Wit a surge of self-preservation, she amended with less shrillness, "Er—not at all."

She snapped the picture. Lowering the camera, she found it impossible to look him in the eye. Even in he were a sleaze, she didn't like the idea that she might be stooping to his level. "It—it was fine, Mr. Shields. Thanks." Mumbling something vague about needing to get back to the galley, she whirled away and fled.

WOW….and I'm done with this chap. Next one should be up shortly…I'm still working out a few kinks in it, but it will definitely be up by tomorrow.


	3. Chapter 3

HAPPY HOLIDAYS ALL...Thanks alot for the reviews guys.OhNikitamjo in reference to your comment, i actually had a hard time trying to describe his character, i wanted to make him the playboy that you love, but hate all at the same time...took me a while but i got it. and Alena-Saso glad you liked it, thought it needed a lil humor in their so i placed in a personal experience that i had that involved a good friendof mine ;)

Here's chap 3 as promised…..I felt it was time to shake things up evil grin, so there are a few _**surprises**_ in this chapter. I'm not gonna tell, you'll have to read to find out….

see previous chapter for disclaimers…

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Chapter 3

The next day, Serena watched from the window of her galley as Captain Mamou docked the _Silver Cat_ at the Shields's private pier behind his Grand Cayman hideaway.

A blossom-scented sea breeze wafted through the window, and she inhaled the sweet air, feeling her spirits rise in spite of the strain of her secret.

She scanned the panorama before her. It was unlike any October day she could recall in her life. A white beach glistened as water, tinted azure in a noontime sun, lapped languidly across it. About thirty feet back from the sea, the scenery grew dense and tropical, exhibiting a wild profusion of green things growing in erratic and indecisive loveliness.

The wall of ferns and palm trees was broken in one spot by what appeared to be a narrow walkway made of broken shells. It was bordered on either side by red azaleas that spilled over onto the path that meandered out of sight into the equatorial shadows. Bent shanks of hundred of palms, red mangrove and wild bamboo guarded any evidence that a house existed within its lush custody, and Serena, even as nervous as she was, became curious about what lurked within the hushed forest.

There was a hustle and bustle outside her galley window as Andrew and a couple other members of the crew tied up the yacht. Serena turned away from the window and scanned the galley. It sparkled. There was not a single thing left to do. She began to wonder how she'd keep occupied while they were docked. One of the more gossipy stewardesses and Serena's newest friend, twenty two year old Mina Aino, had said the Grand Cayman house was kept staffed year-round, so there would be little for the _Silver Cat_'s crew to do while they were tied up.

Serena wasn't pleased about that. She needed to keep herself occupied so her thoughts wouldn't be tormented every minute by the fact that Mikou's life was ticking away while she stood idle, doing nothing to help his reputation.

Mina had also told her this island house had been in the Shields's family for over thirty years. She doubted there would be any business files or books stored here, but she vowed she'd keep her eyes and ears open. If she was lucky, maybe the trip wouldn't be a total waste of time.

With a sigh, she realized she might as well go ashore. At her first opportunity she'd ask Mr. Shields if she could help with the cooking in the main house. That would be better than doing nothing, she supposed.

When she reached the foyer that led to the deck, she heard a door open, and reflexively turned. There stood Darien, just leaving his office. He was clad in white cotton pants and a white polo shirt that made his dark hair seem even more dazzling than usual. The striking visual feast gave her a pause, she tried to hide that fact.

He watched her thoughtfully for a moment, before he acknowledged her with a brief nod. She nodded, too, not sure what else she might be expected to do. Applaud! Kiss his ring? Why did one simple glance from him make her so nervous and unsure of herself? She felt antsy needing to move, do something, she stuffed a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

Patting the strand into place, she decided to take the initiative. If she wanted to be busy to keep her mind off—things—this was as good a time as any to ask. "Mr. Shields, I've been wondering what you expect of me while we're on Grand Cayman?"

He indicated the exit. "Why don't we walk while we talk," he remarked, startling her.

"Oh, I—don't mean to be a bother if you're in a hurry," she demurred.

A tired smile tipped on corner of his mouth. "I'm in no great hurry."

He surprised her again by holding the door for her. She stepped out onto the yacht's sunny deck, then preceded him down the metal gangway. They didn't speak again until they trod the entire length of the fifty-foot dock and were descending the stone steps to the beach.

"It's lovely," she observed out loud, finding the boundless beauty of the place required an open admiration.

"I hadn't noticed." His voice had been low and seemed vaguely trouble.

She peered at him. "How could you not notice? It's like heaven."

"It was my parents' home."

After a tense pause, she asked, "You didn't live here with them?"

"Not long." He nodded toward the path. "This way."

She watched him covertly as he strode toward the walkway. He hadn't lived with his family long? "Did you visit—"

"No," he cut in, his shortness implying the subject was off-limits.

It was clear he wasn't happy. She didn't know if his troubled expression was because he didn't like the place and its memories, or if he was merely anticipating trouble with his board meeting. "Ms. Tsukino," he added less sternly. "In answer to you initial question. The staff here is quite complex. Why don't you consider this week a paid vacation."

She couldn't think of a thing to say. She knew he would expect her to be grateful. Most employees would be thrilled to be given a vacation with pay in a tropical paradise like this. But she was immediately filled with gloom. Though she offered a wan smile in answer, to her this so-called vacation would be just one more squandered week where she would be unable to get at those all-important company books. "That's great," she managed, swallowing to ease the prickly dryness of frustration in her throat.

They stepped onto the path of shells. It made a pleasant crunching sound with their tread, but was so narrow that Serena had to precede Darien. She squinted, trying to adjust her eyes to the dimness.

There was a rustling, and she ducked, fearful. "What was that?"

"Parrots," Darien said. "Look. There." He indicated the direction of the dock. Through the spread fingers of palmettos she watched as two dark blue birds, their color very much like Darien's eyes, winged away along the beach. "There are hummingbirds along the path, too, so don't faint if you run into a swarm of them. They're harmless."

Her eyes were adjusting now, and she peered at him, peeved at his patronizing tone. "Thanks for the warning," she mumbled, her jaws tight.

"By your tone, Ms. Tsukino, I assume you believe I was being condescending," he said offering a token smile. "I apologize."

He'd sounded more preoccupied than contrite, making her doubt that he cared all that much. Though she forced herself to smile back, she had a rebellious urge to suggest that he couldn't help being condescending, being the smug, self-important tyrant that he was, but she restrained herself. "Forget it," she muttered. Turning away, she decided to ignore him and began to inspect the cool retreat through which she walked.

After a quiet moment of ambling along the path that wound around between the curved shanks of giant palms, she smiled a genuine smile at the unstudied beauty of the tunnel-like pathway. Gazing upward, high in the feathery branches of the tropical trees, everything was in motion. As she gazed at nature's rustling dance, she found herself somewhat calmed by the unspoiled loveliness. "Why—it's so wonderful. I've never seen anyplace so—so peaceful."

"A matter of opinion, I suppose," he replied, surprising her with his closeness. She hadn't realized she'd halted, blocking the path. Feeling flushed, and unsure why, she scurried on.

Farther along, the sky brightened, and Serena realized they were reaching a manicured lawn. The crunchy walkway exited the jungle flora and brought them bit by bit into courtly civilization through a bright tangle of roses, camellia, periwinkle, thick ferns and cleverly placed boulders. Hummingbirds flitted about the multitude of blossoms, looking like playful storybook fairies.

At the path's end, Serena halted. Beyond the garden, a pair of ancient sea grape trees framed a view of a long, low house, its architecture hinting of both Italy and Southern California, Scarlet bougainvillea scaled its mellowed stone walls and clambered along the red slate roof.

Nestled in artfully landscaped wide-leafed foliage, the house's rear façade showcased a shaded, airy terrace, its square columns choked with vining roses. An oval swimming pool, tranquil and mirror-like, was to the left of the terrace. Camellia, jasmine and white azaleas bordered a tunnel-shaped, latticework pergola that lined the residence on that side, keeping the forest from encroaching onto the lawn.

On the other side of the house, the lawn, dotted with huge, bowed palms interspersed with decorative mango and almond trees, ran for quite some distance before a stone wall separated it from neighboring jungle-like foliage that would engulf everything left to itself.

This was the sort of heavenly solitude Serena had only dreamed existed. She couldn't imagine anyone having the good fortune to live in a place like this. Turning a stunned expression on Darien, she whispered, "How could you dislike such a beautiful place?"

He half smile, but it wasn't a happy expression. Taking her arm, he said, "It must be nice to be so naïve, Ms. Tsukino."

She stared at him as he turned her toward the house. She had a sudden flash, a realization. Unable to help herself, she asked, "This is where your family died, isn't it?"

He stiffened, turning toward her. Something flashed in his eyes, but it came and went so rapidly she couldn't guess what the dark emotion was—hatred? Pain? Anger? With nostrils flaring, he warned harshly, "I will not tolerate these continued intrusions into my personal life, Ms. Tsukino."

His fingers tightened around her arm in his irritation and she swallowed, recognizing she'd gone to far. His family's problems were none of her business. Feeling badly for blurting such a personal question, she said, "I-I'm sorry, Mr. Shie—"

"Did you have any other questions—about your _duties_ while you're here?" he cut in, his tone ominous.

It was clear he didn't intend to discuss the matter, even if it was only to accept her apology. She took his unspoken direction. "Where will the crew be staying, sir?" she murmured.

"Mrs. Brownly, my housekeeper, will—"

"_Messy Miss!_" came a hoarse cry, drawing both Serena's and Darien's attention. Hearing her grandpa Aquino's pet name for her, she swirled around toward the sound to see movement on the shadowed terrace. It couldn't be her grandfather! But nobody else in the world had ever called her that name. gulping back the bitter bile of looming discovery, she could only stare in stark panic. _Please! Please say it isn't so!_ she prayed silently. _He can't be here. He's too sick—too deathly ill! This will kill him!_

Serena's heart dropped as she watched the unthinkable happen—a familiar, thin image was tottering toward her, leaning heavily on a cane. Even in the deep shadows she recognized her grandfather's kindly, gaunt face, hawk nose, and the sheen of his balding pate. Serena cast Darien an apprehensive look. He, too, was watching her grandfather's labored approach.

"Messy Miss?" Darien asked. "Obviously the man knows your style of cooking, but who is he?"

Serena gulped hard. All she needed now was her boss's sarcasm. "It's my grandfather," she whispered.

"I thought you said your grandfather was in a rest home."

Mikou beckoned feebly. "Come—come here, Serena. Give your old man a hug," he rasped. "And you, too, Darien, my boy. Let me hug my brand-new son-in-law."

The blood drained from Serena's face. She twisted toward her employer, sure he could read the panic in her eyes. Grasping both his hands in hers, she pleaded under her breath, "Mr. Shields, I can explain. Before you say anything, _please_ go along. My grandfather thinks we're married. He's very ill, and any shock could _kill_ him!"

Incredulous blue eyes impaled her. "He thinks we're _what?_" Just moments ago he'd made it clear that he didn't tolerate intrusions into his personal life. By his brutal expression, she sensed he felt exceedingly intruded upon right now.

Towering over her as he was, Serena felt about two inches tall. If he'd wanted to, he could have reached out and strangled her with one hand. His hard-edged expression told her he was considering it.

"_Please!_" she cried under her breath. "I'll get him on the first plane out of here! Just—go along for a few minutes!"

He flashed a quick glance over her shoulder toward the old man. "Ms. Tsukino, are you nuts?"

"Probably." There was no time to argue or defend herself. She begged, "Quick, put you arm around me and wave."

Darien's expression was a mixture of disbelief, rage and frustration. "Why in hell would you tell him we're married?"

"Could you please save the inquisition until later?" she asked plaintively. Her heart hammered. Every second Mikou was struggling closer to them. Though they were at least thirty feet from the terrace, and well out of earshot, she knew she only had seconds to get Darien to help her, or the game—her scheme—was up.

He'd clamped his jaws tight, making his cheek muscles stand out. Clearly he was far from won over.

"I promise he'll be out of here on the very next plane."

His expression was disapproving, but with one more glance at her grandfather, he seemed to relent slightly. "The next plane?" he demanded through gritted teeth.

She nodded, experiencing a flood of hope. Smiling and waving for the benefit of her grandfather, she asided, "_Please_ put your arm around me, Mr. Shields." Louder, she called, "Grandpa. What a nice surprise."

She quickened her stop across the lawn, not wanting Mikou to overtire himself. It startled her when an arm encircled her shoulder. A quick peek from the corner of her eye confirmed that Darien was going along. He was even waving.

"Thank you," she whispered, truly grateful. Even though she'd practically blackmailed him with images of her grandfather dropping dead on the lawn, she hadn't expected this much cooperation. She didn't even dare think about what she'd expected.

"What the hell is his name?" Darien demanded through a fake grin.

"Just call him Grandpa," she said, not sure if the name Mikou would set off any warning bells in his brain or not, since her grandfather had been fired before Darien's birth.

If she could scoot her grandfather onto the first plane back to the States, she could still pull off her plan with nobody the wiser. Of course, Darien might fire her just for lying about being married to him. But she couldn't worry about that now. Her grandfather's health had to come first.

"Grandpa," she cried when she reached the terrace's edge. "I can't believe you're here." She hugged his frail shoulders, and he hugged her back. She inhaled the familiar scent of his inexpensive, musky aftershave. It was comforting. She wished she could have spent more time with him these past months, but the rest home was expensive, so she'd had to work. "What were you thinking, coming all this way?" she reprimanded softly.

He let her go and kissed her cheek, then turned to look up at Darien, his old, brown eyes twinkling. "Serena—honey," he said through labored breaths. "Ever since you told me—about marrying this young buck, I've just felt better and better." He reached for Darien. "Let's have a hug—my boy."

Serena stepped back, clasping nervous hands together as Darien allowed himself to be embraced by this total stranger.

He gave her a sidelong frown as he said, "It's good to meet you—Grandpa."

"It's like a dream come true, son." Mikou patted Darien's powerful back as he clung to him for support.

Darien's frown deepened, his sharp gaze resting on Serena. "I'm happy you're feeling better."

_Oh, dear!_ Serena realized any second now Mikou would say something about Darien's grandfather, Damon, and her world would come crashing down around her. In a last-ditch effort to save her plan, her lie, and her grandfather's health, she interjected, " Uh—Grandpa—Mr.—er—Darien has to—to make an important call. And you need to rest." She peeled his thin arms from her pseudo-husband, and pasted on a grin. "Why don't we let him make that call, and you and I can talk."

Biting nervously at her lip, she gestured toward the house with her head and shot Darien a _please go away!_ Look.

He gave her another accusing glance, then with a surprisingly believable smile, nodded toward Mikou. "I'd better make that important call—Grandpa." Startling Serena, he bend to brush his lips lightly across hers, murmuring," Darling…" As he lifted his mouth away, he muttered near her ear, "_Get him out of here._"

The last flight out of Grand Cayman was at nine that night. An eternity away. Serena had been relieved to discover that all he'd told the housekeeper when he'd arrived was that he had a "big surprise" for Mr. Shields. She supposed she shouldn't be all that amazed that the housekeeper had let him in. Mikou was such a sweet, irresistible old man. Still, she couldn't believe her luck that he hadn't mentioned anything about "Mr. and _Mrs._ Shields." But that had only been a temporary reprieve.

She was beside herself about how to keep Mikou away from everybody, especially Darien. There was no way Grandpa could be with Darien for five minutes without saying something incriminating.

She'd taken him out and sat with him on the beach for a while, then talked him into a nice, long nap before dinner. But what was she going to do about dinner? He was sure to assume, as the grandfather of Darien's wife, he'd be expected to eat with them.

Serena had been so upset by her grandfather's disturbing appearance, she hadn't brought her bags to shore, hadn't consulted Mrs. Brownly, the housekeeper, about her accommodations, hadn't taken off souvenir shopping with the rest of the _Silver Cat_'s crew. She merely lurked near the guest room Mrs. Brownly had given to her grandfather for his nap, fearful that if she left even for a short time, he'd wake up, wander around and get himself—and her—into irreparable trouble.

So, she skulked in the sleek, white stucco hall. After a while, afraid her pacing might attract undue attention from servants, she perched on a long, contemporary rush bench, tapping her foot fretfully on the black granite floor, pretending to admire several abstract paintings that hung along the hallway wall—bright splashes of color cavorting across the canvas, giving a liveliness to the stark walls. In reality she wasn't so much into the art as she was stealthily watching the second hand on her wristwatch mark the slow passing of time. There were six grueling hours left until the next flight back to Miami.

"Ms. Tsukino," came a very distinctive voice of Darien Shields.

She jerked around to see him standing not far away and automatically jumped up to stand. "Yes, sir?"

He leaned against the wall, eyeing her dubiously. "I think you know what we need to discuss."

A chill of apprehension skittered along her spine. "Yes, sir, I think—I do." She eyed the door to the room where her grandfather napped, worrying the inside of her cheek. "It's just that I don't think I should go very far away—in case he should get up and decide to wander around."

Darien indicated the glass patio doors at his back. "You can watch from out there."

She had to agree. They'd have privacy as well as a view of the hallway. Dreading this conversation, she headed toward the patio. Darien fell into step beside her. When they reached the doors, he opened one for her to precede him. She felt a bit grudging about it. Why was he bothering to act the gentleman when he was just about to give her the ax? Did he think he was being kind? On the contrary, he was just out her anguish.

After they'd reached the cool, shaded patio, he indicated a seating area of redwood furniture covered in off-white linen. She took a seat at one end of the sofa while he sat down in an armchair positioned at a right angle to her. She had a hard time looking directly at him, so she focused on the rustic redwood coffee table before her. A large stone bowl in its center contained a gorgeous, red-blossomed tropical plant.

"Ms. Tsukino," he began, "what you've done is quite serious."

She cast him a pained look. "I know that, sir."

He eyed her quizzically. "Why in heaven's name did you tell your grandfather such a lie?"

She squirmed, casting her glance away. It was very quiet, she realized, except for the constant twitter of birds. It seemed that winged creatures were everywhere, happily darting, calling and chattering, probably even gossiping about foolish young chefs who were on the verge of being fired. She had the absurd feeling they were gathering to get a better look.

"Why me, Ms. Tsukino?" he asked, drawing her back. "Why didn't you tell your grandfather you'd married one of those blonde men you prefer?"

He sat forward, intertwining his fingers, and merely looking at her, not appearing particularly bloodthirsty. Maybe she still had a chance to keep her job. She just had to come up with a believable story and play on his compassion. By going along with her lie earlier, he'd done a very compassionate thing, proving he wasn't totally immune to compassion—at least when it came to the idea of elderly men dropping dead in front of him.

She decided to give one more little fabrication a try. "I—I lied because Grandpa, er, wanted to see me married and happy before he died. So, I guess—I just—" she shrugged finishing sheepishly "—I picked you, since I was working for you and all." Her cheeks burned. Oh, how she wished she'd never even started this charade. It seemed to be getting worse and worse by the minute. _If only he'd swallow this last little fib!_

He sat back, seeming to consider what she'd said. When he faced her again, he asked, "What's wrong with you grandfather?"

She sighed, despondent to be reminded of her grandfather's fragile health. "The doctor said he's just wearing out, giving up. He's had a—a hard life."

"I see." He scanned her face. "I'm sorry."

She was startled by his sympathy and wondered if it was genuine. "Thank you," she murmured.

"So, you're going to send him back and allow him to pass away believing we're married?"

She winced at his disapproving tone. "I didn't want him to worry about me," she objected. "I didn't think it would hurt."

"I appreciate your motives, Ms. Tsukino. But you must understand, I can't allow my employees to make a practice of telling sickly relatives I've married them merely to ease their passing."

Dread, swift and hot, raced through her. Here it came. _He was firing her after all._

Just then she heard a noise and glanced beyond the glass doors to see Mikou emerging from his room. "Oh, no," she moaned, jumping up. "It's Grandpa." Panicked, she looked down at her boss. "What should we do?"

He flicked a look toward the doors in time to see Mikou spot them. Turning back to Serena, he asked, "How long have we been married?"

She shrugged. "A couple of weeks."

He absorbed the information, looking exasperated. Surprising her, he took her hand and pulled her into his lap. "Then we'd be on our honeymoon."

She fell onto his thighs, able to do nothing more than stare at him.

"Which would you prefer," he asked, "that I kiss you or just a gaze lovingly into your eyes?"

She found herself intensely aware of his sinuous maleness, so vital and warm beneath her hips. His scent filled her senses and his alluring blue eyes, even narrowed with aggravation, made her heart race strangely. "Uh—I guess a loving look will do…" she said, her voice strained.

He encircled her waist with his arms, leaned close, his expression going gentle. The smoldering flame she saw spark to life in his eyes flabbergasted her. "How's this?" he queried near her mouth.

Even knowing this was a fake seduction, she experienced and unwelcome surge of attraction for him, and it took all her willpower to keep from moving that last inch to touch his lips with hers. "It's—it's just fine—sir…" She had to force herself to turn and make sure he grandfather was making it okay. The smile she had commanded to her lips froze and then faded. "Oh—dear…" She breathed in a moan as Aunt Jeannie joined Mikou just beyond the doors. While she helplessly stared, the elderly woman hugged the old man and a host of strangers joined them.

Serena opened her mouth to try to make some sense out of this turn of events, but didn't have the time. The door was pushed open as the crowd spilled onto to patio. Aunt Jeannie trilled, "What a wonderful surprise! To discover that my naughty grandnephew as gone and married my kitchen angel behind my back!"

Darien twisted around.

"Who are those people?" Serena cried under her breath, horrified to be caught in Darien's lap.

He cursed under his breath. "It's my damned board of directors. The company plane must have arrived early."

She started to scramble up, but he held her fast. "Too late, Ms. Tsukino," he muttered near her ear, suddenly grinning. She knew the expression was just as phony as his seductive look a moment ago, and she was confused.

"Why?" she asked.

"Save the inquisition for later, _dear_," he warned, his tone grim.

She met his flinty gaze and her heart began to thud. What did that look mean? Before she had a chance to analyze or question it, he crushed her against his chest and kissed her so passionately she felt the earth stumble dangerously on its axis then explode into millions of lovely, fiery fragments.

That's all for now….i have chapter 4 just gotta take my ideas off the paper and out of my head and type them up….it should be up by Saturday the latest. For now, just tell me what you think so far. peace out


	4. Chapter 4

Really sorry for the delay guys, my friends abducted me and we've been taking road trips ever since break started. I actually managed to take my laptop and in between driving, I've been working on the story. Okay...WOW, thanks for the reviews guys. I seriously didn't think I'd get so many hits for the story, considering I didn't think it was very good. Thanks again.

Sorry to leave you guys hangin like I did. evil grin Based off of the reviews I got everybody is wondering what is gonna happen with the board of execs huh? Well I guess you'll just have to read on...

Chapter 4

The kiss was hot and lingering. Yet even when it ended Serena was still dizzy, her heart skipping again and again. She'd never been kissed like that in her life. Suddenly, Darien's nearness was a staggeringly frightening experience. This man was her worst enemy, yet lightening bolts of unwanted excitement continued to dance through her. Against her will, she had to admit she found him disturbingly seductive. That revelation was even more disquieting since she knew he'd only been acting.

She wanted to jump up, to run away, but even if her legs had been steady enough to support her, she couldn't move, for he was holding her against him. Blinking, she stared up at his face, confused, wondering why he was restraining her. He was smiling, yet there was a vein throbbing in his temple that belied that pleasant expression. Serena began to have an uneasy feeling that he was hatching some deceptive plan of his own.

A cluster of people was gathering around them, all talking at once. Some were smiling, some were not. One particular woman, Serena noticed, wore a rather sour expression, marring her otherwise pretty features. But it was all such a blur.

There was Mikou's pale, grinning face and Aunt Jeannie's flushed appearance as she patted first Serena's cheek then her own heavy wig.

The first thing that rang completely clear in her mind was Aunt Jeannie's loud remark. "Mikou, dear, it's been just too long since we've seen you. I always felt so badly about the unfortunate way you left the company."

Serena stopped breathing. Jean had blurted out her terrible secret! Her fearful gaze lurched to Darien's face. He was looking at her oddly now, as though he'd never seen her before. She felt a skittering unease, like a spider dashing along her spine. Was he becoming aware that there was more to Serena's lie than merely just letting her dear old grandfather go to final reward in piece?

She felt herself being lifted to stand as Darien stood up and took her hand in his. When her glance darted to his face, again she noticed that he was smiling at the chattering group. "Aunt Jeannie and my housekeeper will see that you're all settled. I'm sure you understand that my bride and I want to be alone, so we'll be staying on the yacht." He gave Serena a loving grin, though his eyes sparked with a less blissful emotion. "If you'll excuse us, we'll see you later."

After one last, damp kiss from Aunt Jeannie, Serena found herself being hustled along the back lawn toward the jungle barrier. When they were out of earshot, she asked, "What's going on? Why did you let everybody think—"

"Why didn't you tell me your sweet, old grandfather was Mikou Aquino?" he interjected. Though he hadn't raised his voice, there was icy anger in his question.

She stumbled, but couldn't halt because he was fairly dragging her along. They entered the darkness of the forest, and she yanked on his hold, but to no avail. "I—I—" She drew a deep breath, working to control the tremor in her voice. "I didn't think it was any of your business," she tried, doubting that he'd buy that.

"You must think I'm an idiot," he growled, halting to glare down at her.

"Of course, I don't!" she retorted, smarting not only from the discomfort in her wrist but from the sharper pain of being found out before she'd managed to do one single thing to help her grandfather. "I never thought any such thing, Mr. Shields. But since you know who Grandpa is, I'll tell you what I _do_ think. I think your grandfather was a _crook_. I think he swindled Grandpa out of what was rightfully his. That's what I think!"

His expression had gone so furious she couldn't help but wince, but she hurried on. "The truth is, I wanted to clear my grandfather's name before he died. That's why I applied for the job with your family." She lifted he head proudly. "Grandpa's so sweet-natured he thought he'd mistakenly done something wrong all those years ago. My mother told me over and over how sad he was, how badly he'd felt. She swore until her dying day that he never did anything deceitful. Grandpa wouldn't have wanted me to get involved. But I _know_ he's innocent and I wanted to prove it, so I lied to him about being married to you—to keep him from worrying. Happy now?"

One dark brow arched skeptically. "You little fool," he chided coldly, the very coldness of his tone dismaying. "Do you expect me to believe a wild accusation from one man's disgruntled, clearly prejudiced, daughter?"

"If you're so sure it's all that wild, then prove it. Order an audit going back to the very beginning—if you _dare_!" she challenged.

"Don't be ridiculous." He turned away and began to pull her toward the yacht again.

She was totally dumbfounded now. What in the world was he doing with her, allowing the marriage lie to go on? "Where are you dragging me?"

"To our honeymoon suite."

"Wh-what?" she panted as they exited the forest onto the beach. "I don't understand. Why are you doing this—especially now—now that you—"

"Now that I know what a conniving, lying phony you are?"

She became indignant. "I'm no phony. I _am_ a chef."

He laughed bitterly. "My mistake, you're a liar, a conniver _and_ a chef."

"What do you intend to do with me? Make me walk the plank?" she asked as he tugged her up the steps and along the dock.

"That would be my first choice. But nautical law frowns on such practices today."

"What, then? Are you going to chain me up and make me your prisoner?"

"An appropriate description." He grasped her around the waist and hoisted her onto the deck. She landed on shaky legs, but managed to twist around to face him as he bounded aboard. He indicated the entrance with a jerk of his head.

She balked. "An appropriate description of what?" This time her voice hadn't been nearly so self-assured. The anger in his eyes made her shiver with foreboding. What do you intend to do with me?"

He eyed her levelly, his rage evident in the flare of his nostrils. "What the hell do you think I'm going to do with you?"

She shook her head, bewildered. One idea nagged, but she rejected it. Back there he'd pretended to be married to her. All those strangers, plus Grandpa and Aunt Jeannie, thought they were newlyweds. But surely he didn't intend to keep up that pretense. There was no reason why he should. She'd have thought he'd be delighted to expose her as the embezzler's granddaughter he thought she was. "I—I don't have any idea what you're going to do," she admitted faintly.

"For the next week, _darling_," he said, his voice hard, "we're going to be a happily married, honeymooning couple.

Her heart flip-flopped as he confirmed her worst fear. "No…"

The grin he flashed was devilish, but devoid of humor. "Oh, yes." Shocking her to her core, he lifted her into his arms and carried her down a short hallway. Before them, the master suite door stood ajar. He didn't even slow down when he got to the room's entrance, merely kicked open the barrier with a thundering bang, and stalked inside.

She gasped in fear when he tossed her on the bed. "What do you think you're doing?" Scrambling away from him, she hopped to the carpeted floor on the opposite side. "There are laws against rape, you know!"

He snorted derisively. "I love you, too, darling. But for the record, I'm not doing this out of any craving for your body or a desire to join the ranks of married men—far from it." He turned around and headed for the door, but before he left her, he peered back and gave her that same half grin that she'd found so devastating, yet lacking any warmth. "You fell into my lap—so to speak—at precisely the right moment, Ms. Tsukino. Just so you'll fully understand my position, my company is family held, which means only relatives have voting stock. At least up until now. I have the most stock, naturally, since my grandfather started the company—"

"Yours and _mine_!" she interrupted, contempt ripe in her tone.

His half grin faded. "Nevertheless, once Damon died, the bulk of the stock came to me. I suppose you've heard rumors about the playboy I am."

She sniffed disdainfully. "You're too kind to yourself. Lecherous womanizer would be more appropriate!"

"Exactly my point, my rather unscrupulous reputation with women, plus petty jealously over my inherited position in the company, has built up a smoldering resentment toward me from a certain faction of my board of directors. Though I've kept them in caviar and diamonds, that envious faction is crying conservatism, insisting I don't know the meaning of the word, and rabblerousing to get me out as Chief Executive Officer. Their fear tactics have garnered almost enough votes to succeed. But," he added, eyeing her narrowly, flinty determination edging his words, "if they all believe I've settled down with a wife, I might have a chance to swing the votes in my direction and save Shields Automotive Inc from disaster under the management of that maneuvering yes-man, Seiya Braxton."

"You—you mean you're going to pretend we're married just so you can keep control over—over…." She couldn't finish, stunned by the very idea. "And you call _me_ a conniving liar?"

"Millions of dollars and thousands of jobs rest on the board's vote. I won't allow a handful of jealous, overcautious cousins to throw all that away," he growled. "_Of course_, I'd pretend to be happily married to protect my company and my employees, Ms. Tsukino. Don't be naïve." He paused, his expression stony, then reminded, "If you'll think back, you begged be to go along with this fabrication."

She gulped at the fierce gleam in his eyes and the irate set of his jaw. "But that was only for a few _hours_!"

"You made your bed, Ms. Tsukino. Nobody said there wouldn't be lumps."

Several tension-filled seconds passed before she found the nerve to protest. "I won't allow you to do this. It's—it's immoral!"

"It may be," he admitted, his tone grave. "But, remember your grandfather's frail health."

"He's leaving tonight," she reminded him haughtily.

"Not after I issue an invitation for him to remain the entire week." He turned to go, warning, "I hope you can play a blushing bride, Ms. Tsukino."

"_You wouldn't_!" she shot back, but it was too late. As the slamming of the door echoed in her ears, it became horribly clear that Darien Shields was unscrupulous enough to do just that.

She was pacing when the door exploded open and Darien burst in.

Whirling to face him, she threw her arms akimbo. "What a charming way you have of entering rooms. Where did you learn it, executive commando camp?" It wasn't until then she noticed his arms were filled with bags and boxes and women's clothes. "What in the world—"

"You have an hour to be ready for the party," he cut in.

"What party?" A wave of panic began to build insider her again. It was one thing to pretend to be his bride shut up, all alone, on his yacht, but quite another to live such a huge lie out in public.

He dumped the colorful froth of materials and boxes onto the bed and gave her a speculative look. "There's a formal cocktail party tonight. Originally it was to welcome the board members to my home, here. But Aunt Jeannie insists that since she missed our wedding, it must be in our honor."

Serena pulled her lips between her teeth, upset by this latest bad news. "And I suppose, since it fits into your plan to appear all married and settled and newly conservative, you went along with it wearing a big grin?"

He crossed his arms before his chest regarding her with hooded eyes. "Something like that."

"Well—what if I refuse?"

"You won't," he cautioned. "_Grandpa_ is taking a nap so that he'll feel up to seeing your radiant face tonight."

Defeat coursed through her. She seemed to be trapped by her own ill-considered lie. Shifting uncomfortably, she looked away, mumbling, "How could Jean swallow this wedding story? She introduced us less than four days ago on the yacht. When would we have had time to get married?"

He shrugged indolently. "You know her. Aunt Jeannie lives in her own little reality. Once she'd spoken with Mikou, and he'd told her we'd been married for several weeks, she simply scolded me for playing such a trick on her." His brows contracted in a mild frown. "She assumes we met in Miami at some restaurant or theater, and fell madly in love. She's decided that our so-called act on the yacht was perpetrated so that we could announce our marriage down here."

"That's crazy," she said, appalled.

"Nevertheless, it's the story she's been content to pass along to anyone who will stand long enough to listen.

She shook her head. "I can't believe this."

"Believe it, Ms. Tsukino," he warned gravely. "But it's not the end of the world. After this board meeting ends and your grandfather goes back to the home, we'll wait a few weeks then say we got a quiet divorce. No one will be the wiser."

"I supposed…" It seemed like an awful lot of lying, but he was right. That would be the least problematic way to get out of this predicament. Her gaze dropped listlessly to the clothes on the bed. She'd forgotten about them. "Whose are these?" she asked without much interest.

"A local boutique delivered several cocktail dresses for your approval. What you don't want will be returned.

"I don't want any of them," she said glumly. "I'll wear my own clothes."

His humorless chuckle drew her glower. "Ms. Tsukino," he began, directing a cool gaze her way. "How many evening gowns did you bring on this cruise? He scanned her shorts-clad form dispassionately. "I don't intend to argue the point. Even if I did, there isn't time. You'll wear one of these."

His condescension irritated her, but she tried to compose herself. He was right about one thing. She didn't have any formals in her locker downstairs. Actually, she had only had one dress on board and it was more suited for a nice brunch than a cocktail party. With a resigned sigh, she walked to the bed and stared down at the jumble of fabric and boxes. "Okay, just go away. I'll be ready in an hour."

"My clothes are here. There's another bathroom. That can be yours."

She wasn't sure she'd heard right. Twisting around, she gaped at him. "You don't expect us to share this room while we change clothes?"

He'd opened a closet door and was retrieving a tuxedo. "Unfortunately, there will be servants coming and going on the yacht from time to time, not toe mention Jean's eccentric behavior. If we're to make this ruse believable, we're going to have to share this bedroom." Her jaw dropped in indignation as he calmly went on. "I'll sleep on the settee, if that's what bothering you. As far as the bathroom goes, it's quite large and has everything you could need. I won't disturb you in there."

"How gallant!"

When he'd retrieved his clothes, he eyed her, and for a fleeting second she thought she saw amusement flicker in his glance. "I'll be as gallant as your lie, and my corporate problems, allow me to be. It that clear enough—my love?" He turned away and entered his bathroom. The door clicked shut at his back, leaving Serena to gawk incredulously after him.

An hour later she was staring at herself in her floor-length bathroom mirror. She'd never worn expensive clothes before, and was in awe of the feel of the silk slip dress she'd decided on. It was like being draped in a gossamer scarf—all over. So airily soft, so—nothingness. The black silk was actually more of a lining for the delicate black lace outer layer. She felt like there should be another entire layer—possibly a turtleneck, long-sleeved floor-length tweed suit. But, no. Apparently this skimpy attire was what fast-track people thought of as outerwear.

She scanned herself from her threadlike straps and modest show of cleavage on down along the curvy dress to a hem that seemed obscenely short, exposing as much thigh as her uniform shorts had. There had been a pair of sheer, black hose and a garter belt in with the jumble of things, and she'd slipped them on. She'd forgotten to bring any shoe boxes into the bathroom, so she had no idea what she'd end up wearing on her feet.

She inspected her lite blonde hair. Defiantly, she'd opted to wear it as she newly usually did, pulled back in a ponytail at the nape. Wispy bangs fell into blue eyes that were now wider than usual in fearful anticipation. Several unruly wisps hung loose before her ears, and she couldn't decide if she was happy about that or not. Just how unruly did the smart set allow their hair to be? She touched a loose strand, trying to decide if she should smooth it into place or not. Finally, irritated that she'd even momentarily cared, she left it dangling. Maybe she had to pretend to be Darien Shields's bride, but it wasn't her duty, _or her desire_, to please him!

When she opened her bathroom door she was startled to see Darien standing on the opposite side of the bed, trying his black tie. He looked arrestingly elegant in his tuxedo jacket and slacks, and her breath caught in her throat. He glanced away, his hawk like features serious. With an almost imperceptible squint of his eyes and a sideways movement in his jaw, he observed her for several heartbeats.

She tensed, feeling like a cornered animal in a hunter's crosshairs. He disapproved of what he saw! She was too skinny, too plain, her hair was too frumpy. Everything must be totally wrong, for his expression seemed troubled. She pinched her lower lip with her teeth, trying to prepare for his critical outburst.

After another second, his eyebrows rose a trifle and he went back to tying his tie, "You're on time," he murmured.

She was more than a little startled by his minimal comment. "I—well, except for shoes." She busied herself rummaging through the boxes and uncovered a pair of black pumps, hurriedly slipping them on her feet. To her surprise, they fit. When she looked at Darien again, he was watching her, his expression unreadable.

With a nervous shiver she couldn't explain, she glanced away. "I'm ready."

"Why aren't you wearing any jewelry?"

She blanched, going defensive. "I foolishly allowed Queen Elizabeth to borrow my diamond tiara."

His contemptuous frown made it clear he wasn't in the mood for sarcasm. Without comment, he bent to the bed and began to riffle through the mound of discarded dresses. Serena watched him, unable to keep herself from scanning his dark black hair and strong profile. Her gaze slid from the crisp, white collar of his formal shirt and black tie, across broad shoulders encased in expensive black silk, to the white rosebud boutonniere in the lapel.

She even admired the precise correctness of his French cuffs protruding from his jacket sleeves and the square, golden cuff links that sparkled and flickered in the light. He looked so stylish and cultivated. Even his black shoes glimmered with a million-dollar sheen. _He looks just like a bridegroom!_ her mind wailed.

The magnitude of her lie hadn't really hit her until this second. She was going to have to convince not only her grandfather, but a whole lot of very savvy people that Darien Shields had actually picked _her_ to be his life's partner. Unconsciously she touched her hair, wishing she'd taken more care with it. She was sure to look like a country bumpkin on his arm. She was petrified that even her ailing grandfather would see through their deceit once he saw them together.

He straightened, coming up with a black velvet case. Opening it, he scanned the content for a moment before extracting something small and sparkly. Snapping the case shut, he tossed it back on the bed and came over to her.

When she took a safeguarding step away, his expression grew rankled. "I'm not going to strangle you, Ms. Tsukino," he assured her tiredly. "Stand still."

She saw that he was holding a pair of earrings, dainty yet exquisite. Each one had an inch-long strand of diamonds dangling from one larger round diamond that she guess to be at least two carats in weight. "Are these—real?" she breathed as he attacked them to her earlobes.

"Why are you planning to steal them?"

His fingers were a warm contrast to his cold tone. She shot him a thoroughly annoyed look. "You know, I could grow to loathe you!"

He lifted his hands away from her face. A crooked smile touched one corner of his mouth as he drew something from his pocket. "Give me your left hand," he commanded quietly, taking her fingers in his without waiting for her to comply. Before she realized what he was doing, he'd slipped a pair of rings on her finger. The first was a simple platinum wedding band, the second, a fabulous square shaped diamond. "Loathe me all you please in private, Ms. Tsukino," he said as he released her. "But in front of my board of directors I expect you to be convincingly adoring."

As she stared at the wedding set sparkling from her left hand an unanticipated sadness enveloped her heart. Every woman wanted this—a wedding ring. But she'd gotten hers from a man she'd just told she could easily loathe, and he'd only grinned at her, insisting he didn't care. It was all such an ugly sham. If it weren't for her grandfather's delicate health, she would snatch the costly rings from her finger and fling them in his insolent face. but she couldn't do that, and she knew she couldn't—and what was worse, Darien Shields _knew_ she knew it.

She was drained; her heart wasn't into arguing anymore, and she shrugged. "I'll pretend to adore you in public," she promised through a dejected sigh. As she faced him again, she was surprised that he was blurred by unhappy tears. Fighting them back, she forced a tight smile, whispering thinly, "But in private, you and I will know the truth, won't we—_darling_."

The evening was passing in a strained haze for Serena. Darien's home was spread out over a large area, and she hesitated going too far from the from the great room, for fear she'd get lost in the tangle of hallways never to be seen again.

As she plastered on a smile and tried to listen to the small talk of several bejeweled corporate wives, she had to admit that Darien's island hideaway was an open, airy treasure. There were multitudes of skylights and picture windows well suited to the many tropical plants and flowers that filled and enlivened the place. Right now, a bright moon and a thousand pinprick stars could be seen above her head, so lovely and peaceful over the drone of conversation.

As she nodded, half listening to a discussion about fashion trends, she let her gaze and her mind cruise. The low, sleek furniture, cushioned with slubbed white cotton, looked as though it, too, had been part of the architectural design. The house was an eloquent composition of bold lines and angles, its stucco and rough beams all painted a monochromatic white, while the floors were irregular slabs of shiny black slate, a vibrant counterpoint to the light tones of the rest of the dwelling.

Shimmering works of modern art gave drama to stark walls. Adding additional touches of texture and color, were tasteful black marble carvings, Byzantine stone bowls, Italian wrought-iron candelabra and rustic copper planters. It was all so formidable and splendid, yet there was a chill about the place—like a museum rarely visited, dusted yet neglected in some basic way.

This was no home for Darien, no haven. There wasn't a single family photograph, no trite yet lovable mementos, no signs of warmth or affection anywhere. She wondered about this parents, who they had been and why they'd lived here—and why their son had not?

Serena's glance fell on the gorgeous man that was Seiya Braxton, Damon's business antagonist. He was standing beside his thin, pinch-faced girlfriend among a group of several other couples. Seiya, appearing to be in his early thirties, looked to be quite the charmer. His smile was infectious, and even his manner was seemingly well-liked.

Yet after he'd come over and hugged her and schmoozed over her for the fourth time, Serena began to think that he was either being exploitively doting or he was very forgetful. She wondered if Darien might have had a point about the man being manipulative. In her opinion, he might also be half-witted. She hated to admit there was anything about the slightly older man that bothered her. After all, _she_ was on Seiya's side and hoped he'd take over the reins of the company.

But poor Seiya was certainly running a pale second tonight. This party was on Darien's turf, and it was his evening to charm the board. He'd left her about ten minutes ago to "work the room," as he'd put it. Now he was being Mr. Charisma. Mr. Accessible. Mr. Settled-Down-Conservative. How he did all three so well, she couldn't imagine.

She'd never seen corporate politics in action, but she felt tension crackle in the air between the Braxton faction and the Shields camp. She now could see, firsthand, that she was a throwaway pawn in a multimillion-dollar power struggle, and was way out of her league.

She didn't know the rules for playing the cutthroat game, Survival of the Richest, but Darien obviously did. She'd watched him as he'd moved among his guest, laughing and talking. There was a striking, confident quality in him that people were attracted to. Yet, when necessary, he could emanate a charmingly believable humility. She had to give credit where credit was due. Behind that captivating façade was a brilliant, hard-nosed strategist who knew what he wanted and planned to have it.

She caught sight of him by chance. Or was it really all that much by chance, since he stood a head taller than every other man in the room, or half in Seiya's case? He was conversing with that attractive woman she'd seen him with several times. What was her name? Ann Something. She only knew that the woman was the widow of one of Darien's cousins, and now controlled his voting stock. Watching Darien grin at the woman, Serena could tell her was working her—whether it was for votes or something more carnal, she couldn't be sure.

Ann looked to be in her early thirties, and had the sort of well-rounded figure that readers of any adult male magazine would appreciate. Tonight she was hiding none of her assets in a red, crushed-velvet bustier and long, skinny black skirt that sported a slit all the way to her hip. She had a semi long haircut that came as close to Serena's friend Lita's hair as a bottle of hair dye could provide. She grimaced to herself. _What a malicious thing to think!_ What did it matter to her if this Ann person was standing there stark naked, completely fake and doing a bump-and-grind seduction in front of Darien? It was of no interest to her at all!

She felt pain, and realized she was clutching her hands in a ball, her nails digging into her flesh. Deciding she needed to do something, keep busy and take her mind off this whole, awful fraud, she excused herself from the cluster of wives, mumbling something about getting a glass of sea grape punch.

As she maneuvered her way toward the far-off dining room, she became more conscious of the music from the small, hired band that drifted over the low rumble of conversations. There was a definite island rhythm to the tunes they played, though the melodies were familiar. "Because of You" by Kelly Clarkson had just begun and, as usual, she heard a quaint reggae beat to it that hadn't been in the original recording.

"I think we should dance," came a voice at her back.

She shifted her head to see Darien smiling down at her. His loving expression startled her and did strange unbidden things to her insides. Before she had time to respond, he took her by the hand to lead her to the center of the room where a few other couples had begun to say to the plaintive strains of the music.

He drew her against him, his hand warm at her back. "Loosen up, darling, We're supposed to be in love." He smiled down at her. "You're as tense as a Victorian virgin on her wedding night."

She stumbled to a halt, dazed by his bluntness. "I—I beg your pardon?"

He bent to whisper near her ear. "We're supposed to be hot for each other." He nipped at her earlobe fro the benefit of onlookers, and Serena's knees went watery. Luckily he was holding her, so she managed to remain standing. "Bat your eyes. Giggle," he urged, his breath tickling her nape. "You know—like foreplay."

The blood drained from her face and she couldn't seem to help herself from stiffening any further.

He straightened, studying her openly for a moment. "You're _not_, are you?"

"Not what?" she asked, oddly breathless.

One brow rose as though in skepticism. "A vir—"

"That's none of your business," she interrupted, her voice rising several octaves, even in a whisper. Aware her sharp retort was practically an admission that she _was_, she hurriedly bluffed, "But—naturally, I'm _not_!" His torso, pressing against her breast, was too warm, too male, for her piece of mind. Still she tried to smile seductively, even fluttered her lashes, insisting," _Really,_ I'm not."

He was moving her about the floor in a slow, sensuous dance, their bodies molded together like the most devoted lovers might be. His aroma filled her senses, so mellow, warm and woodsy. His fingers splayed out against the small of her back, another disconcerting area of scintillating warmth she was having trouble dealing with.

He said nothing for a long moment, nodded to someone who'd made a passing comment. She relaxed a bit, grateful that his upsetting cross-examination was successfully past.

Out of the corner of her eye she could see her grandfather sitting next to Jean on a small couch. He looked as out of place in his rented tux as she felt in her borrowed dress, yet he seemed happy, and his color was good. She was grateful for that, at least.

Jean was wearing another warm-up suit, her only concession to the fact that this was a formal occasion was that it was made of pink silk and her sandals glittered with rhinestones. She was also wearing a different wig. This one, a flowing platinum model, Serena thought of as "The Dolly Parton."

Detecting movement, she noticed Aunt Jeannie was waving at her. Reinforcing her flagging smile, she waved back. Both Grandpa and Jeannie seemed so pleased by the match, she was sick at heart for what she was doing. She'd only meant her little lie to ease her grandfather's passing. If she'd had any idea it would all blow up the way it had and spin so crazily out of control, she would _never_ have lied in the first place.

Yet, caught as she was, unable to undo what she'd started, she had no choice but to try as hard as she could to loosen up, to press herself to Darien in an enticing manner, pretending they were a happy bride and groom.

With deep misgivings, she knew she must get back to gazing into his eyes. When she flicked her unwilling glance to his face, she had a shock. He was watching her, a corner of his mouth curved knowingly. _He knew she'd been lying about her sexual experience. She hadn't fooled him at all_! "I never would have guess," he murmured, his vivid blue eyes alight with taunting laughter, "from the way you kissed me."

She could barely manage to keep from squirming beneath his amused scrutiny. "I have no idea what you're talking about," she hedged through a faltering smile.

His deep chuckle tingled against her breasts, further shredding her already tattered nerves.

That is the end of chapter 4….5 will be up shortly. Again I'm really sorry leaving you guys hanging like that. To make it up I will have 5 and 6 up at the same time by the end of the week. Until next time, peace out! KACI


	5. Chapter 5

alright as promised here is chapter 5...hope you like it...

Chapter 5

The party had been stressful for Serena. But with a shudder of dread, she realized it had been as easy as boiling water compared to what she was facing now.

Darien had made a big point of their leaving the party early--allowing everyone to believe the newlywed couple wanted to be alone. Since they weren't really newlyweds, and she, at least, had no earthly desire to be alone with him, she assumed he'd planned to get to bed because of early meetings in the morning. _At least that's what she hoped he planned_. For all she knew, with that playboy reputation of his, Darien might be planning a little leisure-time seduction of one particular captive virgin!

She stood inside her fancy yacht bathroom, clad in a read, oversized T-shirt she'd gotten upon graduation from the Culinary Institute of America. It had foot-high, black letters on the front that read C.I.A. Most people thought those initials stood for the well-known Central Intelligence Agency, a shadowy spy organization. Every time she wore the shirt, that misunderstanding got a laugh. Tonight, however, she wore it, not for laughs but because it was the largest this she owned that she could sleep in. she tugged at the hem. Though it came almost to her knees, which was longer that her dress had been, she still felt vulnerable.

She'd managed to waste an hour in the bathroom, so it had to be midnight by now. running a tired hand across her eyes, she faced the fact she couldn't cower in there forever. the head was big, but there were no comfortable places to sleep. sooner or later she had to leave.

She finally decided the best plan would be the dash to the bed and quickly slip beneath the covers. hopefully, Darien was asleep on the settee and wouldn't even be aware of her comings and goings. if he did happen to be awake, he'd see her for only a second or two before she was safely under the bedsheets and out of his amused sight.

With a quick intake of breath, she opened the door and dashed halfway to the bed before she registered the fact that the lights were on and Darien was nowhere to be seen. she glanced toward the door to his head. it stood ajar. "Mr. Shields?" she called, though not very loudly, for she wasn't sure she wanted to engage him in conversation, considering he might be, er, undressed.

There was no reply.

Puzzled, she walked around the bed to glance into his bathroom. all was quiet, and predictably neat. there was a lightweight terry robe on a golden hook beside the glassed-in shower. she frowned. it didn't appear he'd even begun to get ready for bd. where could he have gone? when she'd scurried into her bathroom an hour ago, she'd been led to believe he was going straight into his to shower and then go to bed.

Aquick, disobedient thought flitted through her brain, a vision of Darien stealing off to meet Ann What's-Her-Name in the moonlights, but she squelched it. that would be foolish of him, considering he was trying to prove to the board that he was reformed, settled man. still, hormones sometimes didn't listen to the logical brain. _She_ was an excellent example of that, considering how, out on that dance floor tonight, she'd felt illogically drawn to Darien Shields. _Of all people_!

She closed her eyes, trying to blot out that uncomfortable memory. well, hormones or no hormones, logic or no logic, she certainly wasn't going to trek off looking for him. if he wanted to take such a chance by meeting Ann, that was his business. as long as her grandfather didn't find out about the make-believe marriage, that as all she needed to worry about. besides, the more damage Darien did to his chances at keeping control of his company, the happier she should be, shouldn't she?

Absently she turned off a lamp burning on a dresser beside Darien's bathroom door. that left only one wall sconce on, near the entry. its glow was relatively dim, so she decided to leave it. Darien would have to see her in his bed, when and if he did show up. that way he couldn't crawl in beside her and later plead that he'd forgotten she was there. She might be a virgin, but she wasn't a dumb virgin.

Just as she reached for the bedspread, preparing to climb in, the door opened and Darien stalked in, looking irritated. "Get it!" he commanded in a rough whisper. he was wrestling off his tie and making quick work of discarding his formal shirt, revealing a well tanned, muscular chest. "Aunt Jeannie and Mamou are coming."

Serena had gone stark still in her bent-over position staring as Darien stripped off his clothes and carelessly threw them about. he sat down on the bed and yanked off his shoes, tossing them aside. next, the belt came off. Serena gaped as it arced into the air and landed on the settee, only to slither off and drop soundlessly to the carpet.

She cast her gaze to the bedspread, afraid to look at him now. the only clothing he had left to remove were his tuxedo trousers, and she didn't intend to witness _that_. she felt a weight on the bed nearby. "Ms. Tsukino, get in!" he ordered again, but barely above a whisper.

Unable to stop herself, she jerked to look at him. he was slipping beneath the covers, still clad in his formal slacks. as he settled in to lounge against the curved teak, headboard, she heard a rap on the door. that small sound seemed to release her from her stupor, and she scurried beneath the covers.

"Come in," Darien called, and when she turned to glare at him, she found herself surrounded by strong arms hugging her beneath her breasts and pulling her against his chest. she managed to suppress a gasp only by sheer force of will.

"Surprise, surprise, children!" chirped Aunt Jeannie as she preceded Mamou into the room, carrying two champagne glasses in each hand. she was flushed and smiling, her blond wig askew, but she didn't seem tipsy, just slightly out of breath.

"Happy wedding, Serena and Damon, my boy," Mamou croaked, holding a bottle aloft. "We've come to toast the bride and groom in private."

"Hope were not intruding," Jeannie added, hustling to the bed and holding out a hand for them to each take one of the glasses. "Oh, aren't you two the cutest couple," she cried. "Mamou." She gestured for him to come close. "I knew the minute I saw them together on the yacht they were in love." she tsk-tsked, shaking her head at them. "An you two thought you could fool me."

Serena experienced a twinge of guilt. she wondered what Darien was thinking and was dying of curiosity to see his expression. she couldn't tell a thing from her position, with her back against his chest and his chin brushing the top of her head. she surmised his smile was as pained as hers.

Mamou unscrewed the bottle lid and was pouring liquid into the glasses that she and Darien had taken from Jeannie. the drink was obviously not champagne, but something darker and thicker.

"What--what is that you're pouring, Grandpa?" she asked, trying to sound at ease.

"Something of Jean's. She says it does wonders for the vitality."

"Asparagus tonic," the older woman trilled. "Part of my regime to regain my youthful constitution." she patted Mamou's cheek. "And if I can be forthright, I must say your grandfather could benefit from some rejuvenating. He's just too pale." She lifted her glass, now filled with a gray-green liquid, and gushed, "To Darien and Serena, our dear, dear children May they give us beautiful babies--_soon_!" She smiled at them. When she focused on her grandnephew, he eyes filled with tears. "I'm so happy for you Darien. I feared you would never marry, since you didn't have a very--well--close family life of your own. I tried to be like a mother to you, but I was afraid my efforts weren't enough."

Serena could feel Darien stiffen and knew he was not happy by this turn of the conversation. Unaware of her grandnephew's nephew's tension, Jean chattered on. "But I'm elated I as wrong! Well, here's to your happiness, you two!"

"Cheers," came Darien's deep voice. Serena could detect a tightness in his tone. She shifted so she could watch him from the corner of her eye as he heartily drank. It amazed her that he was able to pretend so well. If she hadn't been in intimate contact with his rigid torso, she would have believed that he was a carefree bridegroom.

Both Jeannie and Mamou downed their tonic immediately. Serena toyed with hers, not because she dreaded the taste, for she didn't. Jean had insisted she drink the stuff several times in the past weeks, saying young women needed to concern themselves with their vitality, too.

No, she hesitated because she could feel Darien's strong heartbeat, could detect his powerful maleness through the thin cotton of her T-shirt. The idea of having this man make love to her--to be the mother of his children--well, the very though sent a female tingling through her, and she wasn't happy about that feeling.

"Drink up, Messy Miss," Mamou urged. "It's pretty tasty, if you ask me."

Hurriedly, Serena drank her tonic, though the lump of anxiety in her throat made it very difficult to swallow.

"Oh, before we leave you two lovebirds alone," Jeannie said, "I'd like to have that file of recipes you were cooking for me all month, Serena, dear. I want Chef Lita to cook them for Mamou and me while he's visiting."

"Oh," Serena objected, handing her empty glass to her grandfather. "Please, Aunt Jeannie, let me cook for you and Grandpa. I'm sure Lita will have her hands full with the other guests--"

"Nonsense," she scoffed. "Darien doesn't want you slaving away on your honeymoon! Besides, it won't hurt some of those cholesterol-riddled relatives of mine to get a taste of healthy food a time or two." She bent to brush a kiss first on Darien's cheek, then Serena's. "Now enjoy yourselves. Mamou and I will get that file and be on our way."

Serena nodded apathetically, knowing she had little choice. "The file's in the bottom drawer to the left of the refrigerator."

"We'll be off, then." She tossed back a cheery wave. "Come, Mamou, dear. The other thing I want to make sure of is that you get plenty of sleep. Rest, healthy food and happy thoughts. That's the ticket to vigorous corpuscles!"

Suddenly the elderly couple was gone and the room had fallen dead still. Serena started to wiggle out of Darien's hold, but he held her fast. "Wait a minute. Let's make sure they're gone."

Held captive in the circle of his arms, she couldn't recall experiencing such an eternal minute in her life. Everything she thought or felt or smelled seemed to be intensified a thousand times. She even began to imagine she could feel the masculine energy that made him so self-confident radiating from him.

Although his hands remained beneath her breast, he didn't take liberties, didn't grope. Still she sensed a quickening inside her, a thrill at the contact, as though he'd touched her like a lover, and she was stirred by it.

He smelled good, too, very good, and she couldn't help but inhale deeply of him, getting sinful pleasure in the act. As she consciously breathed his fragrance in and out, in and out, his chest began to seem exactly the right size to snuggle against. She found herself doing just that and scanning the sheer, athletic beauty of his arms. She started to relax, luxuriating in what had been a forced closeness only minutes ago.

Somewhere in the back of her brain, she perceived a sound--possibly a door closing off in the distance--but it didn't quite register.

"They're gone," he murmured.

"Who?" she asked through a long sigh. She didn't really care, for she was savoring an odd, inner glow that was awfully nice. Why not simply float along on this toasty, thick cloud of contentment, and not allow herself to be disturbed?

Something began to intrude on her pleasure. She snuggled deeper, trying to dislodge whatever the disturbance was. But it kept on--the same tingly reverberation was running through her that she'd felt earlier that night on the dance floor.

Her eyes flew open when she became fully aware of the fact that Darien was _chuckling_. "I thought only babies and adults with a clear conscience could fall asleep that quickly," he teased. "Apparently that's not true."

She swallowed hard, having forgotten about Mamou and Aunt Jeannie and the colossal lie that had forced them to be cuddled together like this. What was wrong with her?

She all but vaulted from his arms. "I wasn't asleep," she retorted, which was the truth. "I was merely playing the part of a loving bride." That, of course, was _not_ the truth, but she couldn't tell him she'd found herself relishing their intimacy, wanting it to go on and on. Scrambling off the bed, she defended, "I thought--thought that's what you wanted. Now, will you kindly get out of _my_ bed? Or did you lie about that, too?"

He'd propped himself up on his elbows and grinned at her. "I like the shirt."

She didn't know how to respond to his offhand comment, and didn't think shouting, _Why, you dirty-minded womanizer, how dare you!_ would quite fit. Her mouth worked several times before she finally managed, "Thank you, Mr. Shields. Now, would you please get out of the bed?"

He lifted a doubtful brow. "Ms. Tsukino, have I offended you in any way while we've shared this bed?"

His bluntness made heat creep up her face. "Why--er, I suppose not."

Sliding out from beneath the covers, he stood up, so tall, so gloriously male. When his glance fell on her face again, his eyes held an intense flicker. "Just remember this. The only time you need expect my advances is when you request them. I don't rape women--especially faint-hearted virgins."

Awkwardly she cleared her throat. "I keep telling you, I'm not--"

"Prove it," he challenged softly. He said nothing more, merely loomed there looking sexy and irresistible, with a skeptical half grin on his lips.

A shiver of willful excitement rushed through her. She was sure she must be a blazing crimson by now, and was humiliated and resentful that the man could affect her so thoroughly. "You--you think you're heaven's gift to sexual abandon, I suppose! Well, you're not, Mr. Shields!" she snapped. "Personally, I find you totally--completely..." She was at a loss for words. _What?_ Nothing descriptive came to her mind, and she was further mortified to discover that he slow, knowing grin could short-circuit her brain.

By now, his expression was openly amused. With a quick flash of teeth, he gave her a nod. "Good night, darling." He pivoted away to disappear into his bathroom.

After he'd gone, she stood their fairly trembling with rage. What was her problem? Why couldn't she think of any curt, descriptive adjectives? Words like--egotistical, tedious, obtuse, overbearing! Hell, they were all wonderful descriptions that she would have loved to shout at him. But she hadn't been able to think of any until he'd ensconced himself inside his bathroom.

Irritated to the brink of insanity, she marched around the bed and banged on his bathroom door. "For your information, Mr. Shields, you're conceited, insensitive, tiresome--" _good, the words were spilling out now. Excellent, pithy words! "_--smart-mouthed, boorish--"

The door was flung open and Darien as suddenly there. She was struck speechless by the fact that he was naked except for a towel he'd tied about his waist. "Yes?" he queried, leaning casually against the door jamb. "Did I hear you say something about wanting to prove something to me?"

She flinched at his taunt, stumbling a step away. _For heaven's sake, Serena,_ her mind cried. _Change the subject! Anything. Think of anything!_ All of a sudden the wonderful, pithy words she'd been shouting at him through the door dissipated like an indistinct dream. She was at a loss for insults, again, darn the man! Deciding to take the offensive, she blurted, "I--I merely wanted to know--to know--_where you were tonight?_" Well, at least it was a change in subject, and maybe it would put Mr. Superior on _his_ defensive for a change!

Darien's expression darkened slightly in confusion. "When?"

"Before Grandpa and Aunt Jeannie came here."

He pursed his lips, nodding in understanding. "I was working in my office on board, why?"

She didn't have any idea why she was asking, except maybe the Ann thing was still lingering in the back of her mind. "What were you doing there? I suppose it would be too much to hope you were ordering an audit or whatever you'd call if for when Grandpa was fired--to _prove_ his innocence!"

His expression grew foreboding. "Get off that, Ms. Tsukino. It's a pipe dream that can't possibly come true."

"Are you afraid to find out the truth?"

Straightening to his full height, he muttered an oath. "I don't have time for this. If you'll remember, my life isn't all roses right now, either." He cocked his head inquiringly. "While we're on the subject, how did you like Seiya Braxton?"

She was having trouble concentrating in the face of all his bare skin. As nonchalantly as she could, she shifted her gaze toward the marble tub to his left. "I thought he was charming," she muttered.

"Like hell, you did."

Shocked at his ability to read her mind, her gaze rocketed to his face. "Why would you say a thing like that?" she asked, purposely sidestepping his remark.

"Because I've gotten to know you, and you're a lousy liar. I could see in your expression tonight that you thought he was a shifty jerk."

She huffed disdainfully, spinning away, wishing she weren't so transparent to this man. "If you want the truth, I hope he beats the pants off you!"

"You mean the _towel_, don't you?"

She swallowed, trying to suppress hot images of him losing that towel. Apparently her body language was quite entertaining, for once again she was forced to listen to his disturbing chuckle.

When Serena awoke the next morning, Darien was gone, all evidence that he'd slept on the settee removed. After an awkward breakfast in bed, served by a clearly curious but closemouthed Molly, Serena dressed in a pair of white slacks, blue knit top and sandals, and emerged from the yacht as Mrs. Darien Shields.

She wanted to work up her nerve before she faced anyone, so she decided to sit on the beach and collect herself. But she found she wasn't alone long. The news spread quickly that Darien's young bride was out and about. Within minutes various cousins found her and engaged her in conversation. It was clear they were trying to pry information out of her, about how she and Darien had met, about Darien's future plans for the company, anything at all. She tried to smile and while keeping her answers vague, for she knew nothing about almost everything they wanted to know.

During these disquieting chats, she managed to get more information than she gave, and found out that Damon had had four sisters. All but Jean, the baby of the family, had married and produced abundant offspring. Now all the offspring had a stock in Shields Automotive Inc, and most of them were afraid of Darien's bold management tactics.

She found out from little comments here and there that Darien's relatives were frightened of losing their diamonds and their summer homes and their expensive private-club memberships, if Darien made a strategic business mistake in today's shake economy. She was startled by how many of the board members' wives came to her, appealing that she use her "influence" to convince Darien to pull back on one objective or rethink another agenda.

She was grateful when Jean intervened and announced that Darien had insisted she take his bride on a shopping trip. Before leaving, however, Serena checked on her grandfather, who'd decided to take a long nap. After kissing his pale cheek, she was whisked away in the sleek, chauffeured, black Chrysler 300, one of the most prestigious and luxurious cars of the Shields line.

Serena enjoyed Jeannie's cheery attitude, and their afternoon in some of the most elegant shops in Georgetown unfolded like a fairytale. She felt horrible guilt about the money she was spending in the guise of Mrs. Darien Shields, and kept asking, "Did Darien _really_ insist on this?"

Jean only laughed, adding yet another gown or pair of shoes or skimpy negligee to the swelling account persisting that he had.

On the way home, Jeannie giggled, drawing Serena from her reflections of her growing list of misdeeds. She hadn't been able to calculate a dollar figure for what she'd purchased today and as filled with remorse. Jean's unexpected tittering was so out of place in the dark hole where her mood had taken her, she almost shrieked.

"Dear, are you all right?" Jeannie touched her arm. "You nearly jumped through the sunroof."

Serena faced the older woman and smiled feebly. "I'm fine. Did--did you think of something funny?" She knew she could use a good laugh.

Jeannie blushed all the way the her Cher wig roots. "Well, dear," she whispered, touching Serena's hand. "I suppose I can tell you this now. You see, I'm just happier than I've been in years."

Serena couldn't hold on to her smile any longer, for she sensed Jeannie's happiness had something to do with her lie. "Happy?" she echoed.

Jeannie nodded. "Oh, it was my deep, dark secret for a long time, and I was very ashamed of it for years."

Serena blanched, unable to think of a thing to say. What deep, dark secret could this sweet, eccentric woman have?

"It's about your grandfather, Mamou." She patted Serena's hand, then took hold of her fingers, squeezing them as though she needed to for reassurance. "You see, years ago, when I came back from finishing school in London, I met your grandfather. I was about twenty-two and he was twenty-five, and married, with a baby daughter. That darling child would have been your mother, of course." Jeannie's flush deepened. "Oh, this is just so embarrassing, but I feel I can tell you. You see, I fell deeply in love with Mamou at my very first sight of him, but naturally he was off-limits, being a married man."

Serena could tell her lips had opened in a soundless "oh" but even if she'd had anything to say, she didn't have the chance, for Jeannie was rushing on. "Oh, don't fret, dear, we didn't have an affair or anything so ugly as that. I simply loved him from afar for ten long years--until that awful day he left the company in--well--disgrace." She shook her head, sighing despondently. "I was heartbroken. I _never_ believed Mamou had a dishonest bone in his body. But Damon was furious. Wouldn't listen to me. I was, after all, only a woman." She squeezed Serena's hand again. "I knew I'd never see Mamou again, and because of that I didn't speak to Damon for years. anyway, just--well what I'm trying to say is, I was hoping I'd have your support now."

Serena frowned, perplexed. "My--my support?" Her throat was dry, and she cleared it. "Support for what?"

Jeannie giggled again, sounding like a nervous schoolgirl. "The truth is, I never fell out of love with Mamou. And seeing him again, I was hoping--perhaps this might be my chance to--to find my own happiness, at last." She paused, her eyes filling with self-conscious tears. "And naturally, I'd like to give that sweet man some happiness, too. Don't hate me for saying this, but I don't believe he's been happy for a long time." Her hold on Serena's fingers became painful. "Do you think I have a chance with..." She stopped speaking to bite her lip. when a tear slid down that pudgy, rouged cheek, Serena was so overcome with emotions she thought she might start crying, too.

Jean Shields had been hopelessly in love with her grandfather for over fifty years. She felt nauseating, sinking gloom invade her soul. Her lie had now sucked in another innocent victim. Poor Jean, getting her hopes raised again after all these years. Se hated herself for putting this woman's heart and hopes at risk, too.

A lump blocking her throat, she took the woman into her arms. "Oh, Aunt Jeannie, I had no idea." Pulling slightly away, she looked into the woman's watery blue eyes, the same lovely blue as Darien's, and she smile wanly. "Grandpa's a lucky man to have earned your affection. And he certainly could use a little happiness in his life." As the car pulled down the winding Shields drive, she hugged the older woman's shoulders. Hesitating, she hated to add a sad note, but after a few seconds she knew she was obliged to say this. "Of course, you know Grandpa's not in the best of health--"

"Dear me, I could tell immediately," Jeannie admitted. "That's why I've taken him under my wing. I intend to build him up, make him fell wanted and needed. You'll be surprised, dear, what my tender loving care will do."

Serena nodded, working at keeping a brave face. She'd tried to contact Mamou's doctor yesterday afternoon, but he'd been in surgery so she'd said she'd try later. Then the bottom had dropped out of her plans when Darien forced her into publicly being his bride. She hadn't even thought to call back. As soon as she could, though, Serena planned to find out what he thought of all this, and if he'd approved this trip. Attempting to keep her fears out of her voice, she whispered, "I hope you're right, Aunt Jeannie. I--I want you to be right."

Jean kissed Serena's cheek and sat back with a relieved sigh, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. "Well, I must compose myself, or what will Mamou think of me?" She reached up the front seat and tapped on the driver's shoulder, calling loudly, "_Melvin?"_

The young man, a Grand Cayman native, removed the headset from one ear so that his reggae music was no longer blaring directly into his brain. "Yes, Miss Shields, mum?" he inquired in a quaint accent reminiscent of an American Southern drawl mixed with a bit of a Scottish lilt.

"Melvin, the young Mrs. Shields is running late for the beach cookout, so stay with her and carry the things she needs to the yacht, please."

"Yes, mum." He nodded as he pulled to a halt on the circle drive before the house.

"What beach cookout?" Serena asked. This was the first she'd heard of it.

Jean blew delicately into a handkerchief, then deposited the lacy bit of pink linen into her purse. "Oh, didn't I mention it? Now, you run back to the yacht and get into one of those delicious bathing suits we bought. Darien is probably already there since it's after six." She made a rather sour face. "I told Chef Lita to use your recipes for tonight's cookout, but she had a fit, raging she'd already made nearly all the delicacies for the party and she would abandon us forever if I forced the issue." She shrugged. "Silly girl was near tears, so I fear dinner tonight will be decadent." She smiled slyly. "Mamou and I, of course, will have to dine alone on healthy salads and asparagus tonic. When I must, I can whip up a pretty tasty meal."

Serena noticed that the idea of being alone with Mamou had caused a girlish sparkle to spring to life in Jeannie's eyes, and she was touched by it. But her mind kept turning back to what she'd said earlier--about Darien already being on the yacht getting ready for the _party_. She didn't relish the idea of another public function where she'd have to pretend to be his adoring wife again, so soon--especially clad only in skimpy swimming attire.

She noticed the young chauffeur, who'd finally relinquished his headphones, was helping Jean out of the car. "Oh, Serena, dear," Jeannie added, reaching back to fondly touch the younger woman's hand. "I keep forgetting to say this, but I know you'll make Darien very happy."

Serena bit the inside of her cheek, thinking forlornly, _Only if I walk into the ocean and keep on going!_

Okay this chapter is finally done...now I know I promised to have ch. 6 up immediately after it, but I have come across some technical difficulties. my laptop refuses to work in FL, so I am now forced to dictate the remaining ch's to my cousin in NY...which is kind of hard since i'm doing them straight from memory...BUT HAVE NO FEAR I WILL GET THIS DONE till next time KACI


	6. Chapter 6

Alright people I've have had ENOUGH of the dictating…so here I am with the latest chapter. Im putting them in back to back since im so close to finishing it up… thanks for all the reviews and for the 50th time yes this is my first attempt at a fanfic…alright well here it is…

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Chapter 6

Darien wasn't on the yacht when Serena arrived, after all. Melvin helped her with her bundles and then left her alone. As she stood in the stillness of the huge master suite she was at a loss, wondering whether or not to get ready for the party. Jeannie hadn't mentioned a specific time, and she'd been in such a state of shock over the older woman's admission of love for her grandfather, she hadn't thought to ask.

She decided she'd walk back to the main house and ask somebody, but when she reached the foyer and had partly opened the door that led to the deck, she stopped in her tracks. Darien was coming along the dock, his expression closed and contemplative. She watched his approach in something like a trance. It struck her anew every time she saw him, how physically magnificent he was, and today was no exception.

He was wearing a dark blue, drop-shoulder shirt that accented the astounding width of his shoulders. His black belt and white, pleated trousers with their relaxed fit, served to highlight his trim waist. All in all, he was the picture of casual good taste, looking crisp, yet comfortable, his ebony hair glistening in the late-afternoon. Serena felt her heart turn over, convinced she would never see a more erotic sight under any tropical sun if she searched for the rest of her natural life.

She scanned his features, unable to tell from the expression if he was upset of just deep in thought, and she wondered how his day had gone. It shocked her that she even registered such a thought._ She didn't give a damn about his day!_

When he bounded aboard, he swept the door open, finding himself unexpectedly chest to nose with her. He halted abruptly, his features exhibiting surprise then closing in displeasure. "Ms. Tsukino, lurking behind doors can be dangerous, unless you want to be run down."

She blushed, not aware that she'd let go of the door and had been standing dumbly behind it, thinking about _him_, of all people in the world to dwell on. Feeling both restless and peevish, and unsure why, she retorted, "Well, if you'd ever _tell_ me what's happening, I might not have to keep going in search of information! I didn't know anything about this party until Jeannie mentioned it. I was on my way to find out when I had to be ready just as you burst int!"

A shadow of annoyance crossed his face, but Serena had the feeling he was more annoyed with himself than with her. He plunged his hands into his slash pockets, and exhaled tiredly. "Forgive me, Ms. Tsukino, I thought Jeannie would remember to tell you. It starts at eight o'clock. I'll be occupied with business for several hours. You go on without me."

"Aren't you coming?" she asked, startling herself with the question.

He'd half turned, heading toward his office. With a tired shrug, he glanced down at her. "I'll join the party when I have time. I'm still running a business you know."

She frowned, not looking forward to facing his nosy, self-centered relatives alone. "I'll wait for you," she murmured

A brow lifted in what appeared to be surprise, but she didn't suppose he could be more surprised than she, for she'd had no idea she was going to say that until it came out of her mouth. "You'll wait for me?" he repeated. "Why in hell would you want to do that?"

She cast her gaze away, uncomfortable. "Grandpa and Jeannie won't be there. I don't know those people. All they wasn't to do is grill me about my past, my grandfather, and insist I use my influence on you."

"Use your influence on me?" His wry tone irritated her, and she couldn't understand why. "Do you mean they expect you to influence me with pillow talk, Ms. Tsukino—that they expect you to climb naked into my arms, make love to me and between gasps of pleasure coax me to become more conservative in my business dealings?"

The sexy picture he painted stunned her, siphoning the blood from her face, and she took in a sharp breath.

He chuckled morosely. "Don't tell me you thought all business decisions were made in the board room."

She couldn't find her voice, could only stare, wide-eyed.

His gaze grew circumspect, and he searched her pale face. "For all your lying and conniving, Ms. Tsukino, sometimes you amaze me with your gullibility." He clenched his teeth, eyeing heaven. "What the hell," he acquiesced, sounding put out with himself. It was obvious he had enough troubles without concerning himself with hers, but for some reason he'd decided to take them in consideration. "Wait for me if you'd rather. My relatives can assume we're late because you've been—influencing me."

She stood there, upset and shaken, long after he'd disappeared into his office. For some demented reason she was unable to erase the image of their bodies entwined in passion, his kisses arousing her to gasps of pleasure…

Serena's mood was solemn as she secretly watched the party get under way from behind a tinted window in the main salon. Once again, she'd tried to reach Mamou's doctor, but this time she was informed that he was out of town. She'd left her name and Darien's Grand Cayman number, but was frustrated at her continued failure to get any information. It seemed as though she was thwarted at every turn lately.

Deciding it would do no good to wallow in her troubles, she focused her attention on the party. Lights she didn't even know existed had blinked on high in the boughs of the trees that lined the beach, giving off a romantic glow over the sumptuous spread laid out on long tables. Pristine tablecloths were spread along the twenty-foot length of the buffet tables, covered with all manner of tropical fruits, flowers and delicious-looking dishes Serena could only guess at from this distance.

A reggae band was set up in the sand off to one side. People were wading, dancing, snorkeling and eating. Laughter abounded. Seiya Braxton was easy to spot in his green Bermuda shorts, and matching shirt. Ever since he'd arrived, some twenty minutes earlier, he'd been circulation among the partygoers. She realized he was "working" the group for all he could while Darien was away.

Following his stunning figure with her eyes, she watched as he hugged, guffawed, patted and kissed. Though she was wishing him luck, some small voice inside her was suggesting it was deceitful of him to discredit Darien behind his back, while still managing to seem so appealing and charming as possible while doing it. She tried to force that negative idea back, telling herself this was big business, and evidently there were no rules requiring fair play.

"Ready to go?"

Serena spun around, not having heard Darien's approach. He'd changed and was now clad in an navy cotton shirt. Though it had buttons down the front, he'd left it open, exposing a lightly haired chest and washboard-taut belly. His swim trunks were a striking spatter-print design of aqua, yellow and navy. He wasn't wearing shoes, which explained why he'd managed to come up on her so quietly.

As he lounged against the salon door, his gaze roved over her in lazy appraisal. She felt a tremor along her spine, sure he would find her wanting. He was accustomed to polished society types. What must he think of her—a common sparrow pretending to be a peacock?

She'd never worn such and expensive swimsuit. Even though this baby blue colored was a once-piece tank with now great show of either cleavage, hip or thigh, she felt underdressed. It had come with an ankle-length scarf skirt in swirls of blues and white that could hardly be considered much in the way of clothes, for it was nearly transparent and opened all the way up her dies to her waist, where it was tied. Though this swimsuit had been one of the least costly, and least skimpy, she still felt exposed beneath his scrutiny.

His gaze traveled back to her face, and then to her hair. She'd left it down, flowing just past her shoulders. She lifted her chin proudly. Let him find fault. It was fine with her if she didn't go to the party at all.

He grinned, startling her. "Come here," he said softly.

She blinked, half afraid to. What did he intend to do? When she hesitated for several more seconds, he crossed the distance between them and took her by the hand. "I'm not going to bite you, Ms. Tsukino. Come on."

He led her to their suite and before she could protest he'd taken a brilliantly blue iris from a vase and turned to her. Surprising her further, he lifted the hair from her temple and held the flower there, scanning it as though trying to decide how it would look.

"What are you doing?" she asked, experiencing and odd stirring at his touch.

"Wear this in your hair tonight."

She nodded absently, her whole attention focused on the brush of his hand against her face. "I—I'll go pin it in."

When the took the flower from him, she thought for a second his fingers lingered on hers, but decided she must be wrong. In her bathroom, she glanced at her face while she shakily fastened the flower in her hair. Her cheeks were so flushed anyone would have thought she had a raging fever, or possible just risen from a superb round of honeymoon lovemaking. That thought made her blush deepen. She splashed her face with cold water and patted her skin dry before she reemerged from the head. He was waiting for her by the door, his expression unreadable.

When she reached him, he entwined his fingers with hers. She glanced at him, confused. They weren't within sight of anyone, so there had been no need for the deception. Why had he taken her hand?

His expression closed, drawn in a frown, and he seemed to be light-years away in his mind. She grew peculiarly despondent about that. Somehow she'd sensed that when he'd given he the flower there had been actual fondness in his glance. She shook herself of the thought. She didn't want him to be fond of her. She was _not_ fond of him! No doubt he'd taken her hand merely to hurry her along.

An hour later Serena had sampled so much delicious food she thought she'd never be able to eat again and for her to think that is saying a lot. The baked crab had been heavenly, as well as the roast yams, grape aspic, avocado salad and almond pie. She hadn't been able to bring herself to try either the turtle burgers or fried bolter, which was a specie of banana, sliced thin and fried. But it was just as well, for she knew she would expel with one more bite of anything.

Darien's arm had been gently encircling her waist most of the evening, yet she was still highly disconcerted by the warmth of his touch. Not because she didn't like it, on the contrary she did, and that worried her terribly. Every so often, he reminded, "Put your arm around me," and she'd tentatively done so, but she felt like such a fraud.

They were wading in a ankle-deep water. A sultry breeze ruffled her skirt, and the hem dipped and dived into the lapping waved, wetting it. Darien's arm, as usual, was wound about her, his large hand nearly encompassing her waist. She'd managed to work up her nerve to circle his waist with her arm. Unfortunately for her peace of mind, the frolicking breeze had lifted his shirt just as she'd slid her arm about him, so she was forced to cling to his bare skin, and was having a hard time thinking about anything else.

The music was low and erotic, the beat torrid and tropical, in the background. The stars twinkled above, winking at her, telling her they knew her predicament and found it intensely funny. It was too bad she didn't agree.

"You're very quiet," Darien said, surprising her from her unsettled musings.

She glanced up into his face. He was smiling at her, and that was so disconcerting she couldn't maintain eye contact. Casting her gaze out to the midnight-black sea, she whispered, "I hate what we're doing."

"You hate walking on a beach in the moonlight?"

She gave him a hostile, sidelong glance. "You know exactly what I mean. I don't understand how you can look so at ease. Or is lying through a smile a _major_ part of big business?"

"I would remind you just whose lie this is, darling," he began, kissing her temple, "but your grandfather's coming."

She stiffened. "How do you know? We're facing the wrong way."

"Listen."

She stilled, straining to hear. After another second she heard him calling over the other laughing and chattering voices. "Messy Miss!" It was a gravelly, winded sound, but clearly her grandfather's voice. Releasing Darien's waist, she consciously rubbed her temple where she could still feel the tingle of his lips against her skin. Pivoting to face Mamou, she faked a smile that had to be her poorest effort so far. "Hi Grandpa. What is it?"

He was leaning on his cane, shuffling barefoot through the white sand, his slacks rolled up to reveal spindly ankles. A pug trotted on each side of him, looking perfectly contented. When he reached them, he grinned broadly, first kissing Serena's cheek, then hugging Darien. "I'm sorry I haven't been able—to visit with you two—today," he apologized, taking deep breaths between words. "But Jean's been making me take it easy." He reached into his slacks' pocket and drew something out. "But—I wanted to get this to you, my boy—before I forgot."

Darien frowned when Mamou held out his fist. "Here. This is yours."

Holding out a hand, Darien allowed the older man to drop something into his palm. "Found these between the cushions of the couch—in my room this morning. Would have weighed heavy on my conscience if I'd forgotten to get them to you."

When he'd drawn back his gnarled fist, Serena stared down at what he'd given Darien. Four silver coins twinkled dully with reflected light. Mamou was grinning at his granddaughter now. "Well, I'd best get back. Jean's helping Chef Lita make your yogurt tarts, and I'm worried that she'll have her in tears if I don't hurry." He turned away, made a smooching sound, calling, "Come along, Opal, Reuben. Dessert in a few minutes."

As he hobbled off, the pugs barked their farewells and headed after him. Serena shifted toward Darien as he watched her grandfather weave his way through guests lounging in chairs or on towels along the beach.

She sighed. "That's the man you think embezzled from you company?"

He glanced sharply at her, then down at the coins in his hand. Without comment, he slid the money into his swimsuit pocket. Taking her hand, he turned her away from the general crowd and led her off into deeper shadows.

"Where are we going?"

"Nowhere, just walking."

"Don't you have to work the room?"

He peered at her. "You learn fast." Glancing away, down at the long strip of white sand before them, he shook his head. "I am working the room, Ms. Tsukino. Remember, I'm supposed to be married, settled. It's expected that I'd want to walk off down the dark beach to be alone with my new bride."

She laughed out loud, but it was a pitiful sound, for she was laughing at herself for forgetting how shrewd this man was. Every move he made was orchestrated to enhance his position with his board of directors. Why did she have to lose sight of that every few minutes? Why did she have to have these foolish feminine flashes when she thought of him merely as a man and herself as merely a woman—strolling hand in hand under a tropical moon?

"Why the laugh?" he asked.

She ran a hand through her hair. "Nothing," she lied through a dispirited sigh. "Window dressing for the board."

"I think we're far enough away that we cant be heard."

She didn't respond. He was right. Voices were too distant to make out any conversation and the band was playing, so anything they said would be drowned out by the music. She listened to the tune the band was playing. It was something she recognized. "Blue Moon," an old favorite of her grandfather's. Though the melody was still very recognizable, it was being played with a more animated rhythm. She decided she like it.

Unconsciously, she scanned the indigo sky. The moon above them was neither blue nor full—but a wide crescent of gold, hanging suspended above the highest swaying boughs of the red mangrove and feathery palms. The breeze was salty yet overlaid with the floral scents of an equatorial night. She inhaled deeply, knowing she was living out as romantic a scene as any woman could hope for.

She cast a surreptitious gaze at the man beside her. His profile was rugged yet somber. The ocean breeze had tossed a swath of dark hair across his forehead, making him seem almost accessible. She felt an unwelcome upwelling of attraction for him, and had an urge to reach up and smooth his hair into place. Hurriedly, she turned away, fighting the impulse.

They'd moved into comparative darkness. Waves swirled around Serena's ankles as they shambled through the eddying tide. Darien was on the ocean side, and she was glad, for she didn't swim well, and didn't relish the idea of being swept out to sea on an undertow.

A piercing pain in her foot made her cry out.

"What is it?" he asked.

"I don't know," Unthinking, she put her weight on him, lifting her foot to inspect it. Before she could see what was wrong, he'd lifted her in his arms and as carrying her toward dry sand.

He strode with her to the edge of the forest where he ripped a couple of palmetto leaves from a palm. Placing them on the sand, he lowered her to one while he sat down on the other. "Here, let me see." He took her injured foot in his hands.

She tried to withdraw, feeling foolish.

"Don't," he cautioned. "If it's a sea urchin spine, you'll need treatment."

She chewed the inside of her cheek as he examined her foot. "It—it's better already," she insisted. "I don't think it was anything, really."

His hands were so warm against he wet flesh, she almost forgot the pain as he probed and stroked, removing sand to get a better look. "I think you may have just stepped on a broken shell. How does it feel now? Any stinging?"

She swallowed, wanting to say, _It's never felt better_, but she knew that wouldn't be very bright. "Fine," she croaked, embarrassed that she'd acted like such a sissy. "I—I think you're right about a broken shell. I was just jumpy. I don't know what sort of things lurk in the ocean."

He smile then, his white teeth amazingly clear in the darkness. "Little Miss Midwest meets the big, bad ocean."

A blush fired her cheeks, and she was thankful he couldn't see it in the darkness. "Something like that, I guess." She watched as he drew up a knee and encircled an arm around it, getting comfortable. Suddenly nervous, she shot a glance over her shoulder toward the lighted area where the party was going on. A tall, irregular outcropping of rock blocked her view, she whirled to face him, demanding, "Is this another ploy of yours? Are they supposed to think we're making love?"

His smile faded and he glanced back toward the party. It seemed clear from his expression that he hadn't planned any such thing. He'd merely set her down to examine her foot. His chuckle brought her back and she focused on him. "That's what it'll look like, all right," he admitted. "Do you mind?"

Her poise was little more than a thin shell about her now. Being out here alone with Darien under a tropical moon was difficult enough on her nerves. But the idea of having thirty people think she was having wild sex with him on the beach made her absolutely crazy!

On the other hand, she was _supposed_ to be married, _supposed_ to be on her honeymoon. Making love on a moonlit beach with the man you loved was one of the most romantic notions in the world. It they were truly newlyweds, they would very likely be doing just that.

Trying for a nonchalant shrug, she muttered, "I guess I don't mind. It's no worse a lie than anything else we've let them believe." She had a sudden idea, and as rankled enough by this whole bizarre situation to ask. "Have you made love to many other women on moonlit beaches?"

His eyes narrowed speculatively. "_Other_ women?"

That word "other", and the taunting way he'd uttered it, hit her in the pit of her stomach like a hot rock. She squirmed at the sizzling feeling it elicited. Why had she asked the question that way? It made her inquiry sound as though she expected him to make love to _her_, too! "I—I meant…" Infuriated by his ability to fluster her so with one mild query, she snapped, "You know what I meant!"

The beginnings of a grin touched his mouth. "I don't know, Ms. Tsukino."

"Of course you do!" she insisted. "It's as plain as—"

"I mean, I don't know how many women I've made love to on moonlit beaches."

That admission stopped her. Dropping her gaze, he began to toy with the tie of her skirt. "Oh…" she breathed, so humiliated she couldn't face him. He'd made love to so many women that even in the subcategory of "moonlit beaches" he couldn't remember them all! She had an overpowering urge to scream, but she squelched it.

Well aware that she was acting like a silly schoolgirl, she forced herself to stop messing with her tie and sit up straight, though she couldn't quite face him. Trying for nonchalance, she challenge, "I—I suppose a playboy like you would be very proud of—"

"Quiet," he ordered under his breath.

She snapped her head around to look at him and opened her mouth the ask him what his problem was, but he halted her by holding two fingers before his mouth. He'd twisted to stare toward the party and seemed intent on something.

She turned, too, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. "What is it?" she finally asked, her curiosity getting the best of her.

Frowning, he waited a few more seconds, then commanded, "Wait here." He got up and soundlessly loped to the colossal boulder that protruded from the forest. When he got there, he edged around it to check the other side. Serena's stomach constricted when she understood what he was doing. _He thought someone had been eavesdropping!_ After another half minute, he reappeared and came back to settle beside her.

"Find anything?" she asked.

He shook his head.

"You didn't see anybody? Any tracks?"

"Hell." He shrugged. "There are tracks all over. People have been all over this beach all day."

"Do you think anybody could have heard us from there?"

He nodded. "I think so."

"Oh, no," she moaned.

"It's possible it was just a turtle crawling into the brush."

She pulled her knees up and hugged them. "I hope so."

"If it wasn't, we'll know soon enough."

She rested her chin on her knees and closed her eyes. "Maybe we didn't say anything incriminating," she offered hopefully.

He chuckled morosely. "We're not making love, Ms. Tsukino. That's incriminating enough."

She twisted to glare at him, horrified. But quickly enough, she realized he was right. It was ironic that she had to worry that someone might have caught her _not_ having sex. What an impossible position their lie had put them in!

Out of the night came the tawny-throated warble of a familiar bird call. "Mockingbird," she mumbled, forcing her thoughts to less distressing things.

"They're called nightingales here," Darien said.

"Really?" She listened, finding her spirits life at the sound. "It's a pretty word—nightingale."

" 'The little live nightingale had come to sing of comfort and hope,'" he began quietly, contemplatively, and Serena realized he was quoting from something. He went on. " ' As he sang, the phantoms grew pale, and still more pale, and the blood flowed quicker and quicker through the Emperor's feeble body. Even death listened and said "Go on, little nightingale, go on"!'"

Serena faced him. His expression was sober. "What was that from? It's lovely."

"Hans Christian Andersen," he said. "I probably misquoted. It's been a long time since my mother used to—" He stopped himself, gritted his teeth and looked away.

Serena knew his family was a sore subject with him, but she had to ask, "Your mother read to you when you were a boy?"

He didn't answer, merely stared out at the undulation sea. For a long time all she could hear was the distant reggae interpretation of "Strangers in the Night," the slow swishing of water washing along the sand, and the faint sigh of the trade winds in the treetops.

"Darien," she tried again. "I'm sorry you lost your parents—"

"I didn't _lose_ my parents," he cut in, grinding out the words contemptuously. Then he laughed, a bitter, empty sound. "Oh, they dies in a boating accident, all right. But they'd shipped me off years before…" He faced her again, his features hard. "_Damn it_. I hate this place."

Abruptly he stood, and instinctively she did, too, her heart going out to him. She couldn't begin to understand what had happened to make his parents desert him, and clearly he couldn't understand it, either. She watched in the darkness as his jaw worked in frustration and long-buried grief.

With his childhood wound so visible, she forgot she disliked him, forgot that his family had caused her grandfather a lifetime of heartache, and took his large hand in both of hers. "I'm sorry Darien," she offered helplessly. Not knowing what to do, she simply tugged on his fingers. "Sit down. Let's enjoy the night and try to forget—everything else." She tugged again, returning to her seat on the palm leaf.

He glanced at her, his features grim. She was still holding his hand with both of hers, refusing to let go. Urging again with another gentle pull, she decided to try to lighten the situation, and teased. "We wouldn't want to go back too quickly. Assuming it really was a turtle you heard, we're _still_ supposed to be newlyweds. What kind of bridegroom takes only five minutes?"

He grunted out a humorless chuckle. "It's kind of you to consider my ego, Ms. Tsukino." Sitting back down, he stared out to sea.

She hesitantly let go of his fingers and leaned back on her hands, digging her nails into the sand in an attempt to scrape away the touch of his skin against hers. "You forget, Mr. Shields, my ego's at stake, too. What sort of bride would I be if I couldn't keep your attention for longer than five minutes?"

He drew up a leg and circled his knee with his arms. This time his chuckle was deeper, more genuine. When he glanced her way, his lips were quirked pleasantly, sending a strange shrill along her spine. "How long do you think our egos need to stay out here?" he asked.

His wry question let her see the absurdity of the whole situation and brought a grin to her face, too. "Thirty minutes?"

He leaned back, stretching out his long, muscular legs. "The male ego is a delicate mechanism, Ms. Tsukino. I'd say, at least an hour."

She laughed. "Too bad we didn't bring a deck of cards."

"Too bad you're a virgin or we could really make love."

She'd glanced toward the darkened ocean, but when he said that, she turned to gape at him. He was watching her, his grin teasing. "Or do you want to insist again that you're not."

She pulled up onto her knees and belligerently faced him. "Do you seriously suggest that you know women who'd make love to you on the beach, simply to pass an hour?"

His grin grew wider. "You continue to amaze me," he taunted softly. "Of course I know women like that."

"_Well,"_ she scoffed, "if you want my opinion, you've been hanging around with the wrong kind of women!"

He laughed openly, a mellow sound that affected her against her will. _Of course he knew that kind of woman,_ her mind berated. He was so gorgeous, so charismatic, she had no doubt that he could even turn other kinds of women into _that_ kind of woman. He was sitting very close to one woman who was _not_ that kind of woman, but might throw herself into his lap at any second and become that kind if she weren't severely stern with herself right _now!_

"We could look for constellations, if you'd rather," he offered, laughter in his voice.

"What!" she flung back, only to realize her tone was a bit harsh for his harmless suggestion.

He was shrugging off his shirt, which worried her until he laid it on the sand behind her and gestured. "Use this so your back won't get sandy." Even as he said it, he lay down beside her, cupping his head with a hand. With the other, he pointed toward the sky. "That's Canis Major."

She eyed him dubiously for a moment, but decided he was serious about looking at stars. She lay down on his shirt and squinted in the direction he was pointing. "Where?"

"Near Puppis."

"Oh, near _Puppis_," she quipped, making it clear from her tone she had no idea where Puppis might be.

He shifted her way. "Canis Major contains the star Sirius, if that helps."

"Immensely," she returned, having no idea what he was talking about.

"What about the Big Dipper? Can you ding that one?"

She examined the sky, quickly spotting it. She was relieved, because half the time she couldn't even locate that one—the easiest constellation to find. She pointed. "There it is."

"Good girl. Little Dipper?"

"No idea."

He chuckled. "You're going to have to try harder, Ms. Tsukino. At this rate, we're not going to need an hour."

She glanced at him and was disconcerted to see that his eyes were on her rather than the heavens. "I guess I'm—I'm not much good at stargazing," she murmured, her voice going fragile and shaky.

"I'll help." He lifted up on one elbow. "The Little Dipper contains the seven brightest stars in the constellation Ursa Minor. Look, there."

She turned in the direction he pointed, but didn't see any particular seven stars that looked all that bright. "How do you know so much about stars?" she asked.

"I don't. You just know less than I do."

She peered at him. The charming grin he flashed seemed so real—nothing forced or phony for onlookers—and she responded with feminine appreciation.

"Are you cold?" he asked, sounding closer.

She pulled her lip between her teeth, wondering why part of the sky was suddenly blocked from her vision. After a few erratic heartbeats, it occurred to her strangely numbed brain that he was nearer, looming over her. She shook her head. "I—I'm not cold…" On the contrary, she was growing deliciously warm from the radian heat of his body.

"Serena…" The murmur of her given name out here in private, away from everyone, seemed as intimate as a caress.

"Hmm?" She couldn't get her lips to move, so the questioning sound was the best she could do.

"I'm going to kiss you."

She swallowed. She'd sensed his intention before he'd said a word, and she had no idea why she was allowing this. Crazed, weak-minded female that she was, she _wanted_ him to kiss her, couldn't find a shred of resistance to the idea. That was illogical, counter to everything she'd ever thought or said or hoped! Yet none of that mattered at this moment, not with his powerful body so near, his eyes so beguiling.

His statement of intent hung in the air between them, unanswered for what seemed like hours. Evidently he was giving her a chance to cut and run, to act like the faint-hearted virgin he thought her to be. If she could have formed a coherent response, she would have told him she had no intention of going anywhere. But as it was, she couldn't move or speak. She could only stare up at him, mute invitation in her eyes.3

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Annnnd cut…sorry to do that to ya guys, but I thought I'd leave you hanging until the next chapter…I wonder how far that's gonna go…lol…until next time people :Kaci: 


	7. Chapter 7

Thanks for the reviews guys…sorry I left u hangin in the last chapter, I dunno I just felt the chapter needed to have a suspended ending…anyway here's ch. 7

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Chapter 7

When he tilted his head toward her, she amazed herself by reaching up to meet his lips halfway. His kiss was warm, but not as demanding as he'd been in public. Sliding her arms about his neck, she coaxed him to blanket her body. He followed her down, kissing her softly, sensitively, yet she could feel his powerful body shudder with pent-up tension as though he was holding back, not wanting to frighten her, overwhelm her because of her innocence.

The tender beauty of the experience made her want to be closer to him, to taste him more deeply. Instinctively she opened her mouth, inviting greater intimacy.

He stilled, lifting his lips to hover just above hers. "Serena," he groaned, "don't tempt me."

She was having none of his chivalrous self-restraint now. His kiss had been wildly stimulation even as fleeting and disciplined as it had been. She craved knowing a wilder, more intense excitement she sensed he was capable of evoking—_if he wanted to_.

"Kiss me, Darien," she urged through a sigh. "_Really kiss me._" Fearing he might further object, she met his lips with wanton abandon. It wasn't as though she'd never been kissed, for heaven's sake. He needn't treat her like a china doll. Parting her lips willfully, she dared him to posses her mouth.

The sound that issued up from his throat as half chuckle, half groan. Parting his lips in a like manner, he teased and tempted, his movements lazy and shockingly sensuous. She felt a fierce, aching thrill at the seductiveness of his kiss as it deepened, his questing tongue sending her spiraling toward new stirrings, heightened needs.

She clung to him, wanting the intimacy to go on and on. The naked strength of his rippling back beneath her fingers made her tremble with anticipation. He was so large, so exciting, and he was going to make love to her, too—here on the beach. She knew deep down in her heart that she would never, ever forget his mastery over—

Her mind tumbled and slipped, trying to focus on something important. What was it? Darien was going to make love to her here on the beach—too…

_Too!_

That was the word that held the truth she didn't want to face. visions of countless women writhing on the beach in Darien's arms flashed in her mind. _Legions of women_. So many women Darien couldn't even guess a number. And she was about the join that long list! Where had her good sense gone? He'd tried to leave it with one experimental kiss, but _no_, she'd insisted. And now his bare chest was crushing her breasts, the heat of his body searing her flesh. His knowledge of how to pleasure a woman was astonishing, so much so that even that first, brief kiss had drugged her mind, sent her teetering on the edge of sanity.

Darien was no longer holding back, assuming she'd given her consent. A voice nagged that she'd done just that, but she shoved the realization aside. "_No_…" she cried, but it came out sounding like a passion-drenched sigh. And her arms were still clutching, clinging to his back, acting on a need and will of their own. What kind of dimwit was she? "Oh, Darien," she tried again when he lifted his lips from hers to move in a lush, nipping exploration along her jaw and throat.

His teeth and lips left her tingling with sweet urgency, and she could only open her lips in mute protest as he paid stimulating homage to the pulsing hollow of her throat.

His lips left a moist, sizzling trail as he traveled farther down to feast on the rise of one breast. The shock of imminent surrender gave her her voice, and she cried, "Darien—_don't_…" It had taken all of her ebbing strength to force those two words from between her benumbed, throbbing lips. She wasn't sure he'd even heard her, the plea had been so frail and breathy.

After another second it was clear that he had, for his kisses stopped and he lifted his mouth slightly away from her skin, though his breath still tantalized her flesh. She'd regained enough control to open her eyes and look at him. Focusing on the dark beauty of his hair, she had an urge to run her fingers through it. She knew it would feel heavenly between her fingers, but she resisted. With great effort, she dragged her arms from his back. "Darien," she repeated, her voice still far from normal. "Please…"

His low, irascible chuckle surprised her as he lifted himself up to linger above her, his gaze narrow. "Don't ever tell me you're not a virgin, again, Ms. Tsukino," he admonished gruffly. With that, he rolled away and sat up.

She could only lie there, staring at him with baffled wariness. He'd let her go so easily. What had she expected, a fight? Objection

He wasn't looking at her now, but was staring out to sea, a hard expression on his face. she sensed a supercharged tension in the air between the, and was suddenly struck by the truth. It wasn't that Darien found her undesirable. He simply didn't force a woman to have sex with him once she'd said _no_. looking closer at his profile, she could tell by the clenching and unclenching of his jaw that he'd been as affected by the near seduction as she, and was working at regaining control.

It was an ironic time to do so, but she found that insight into his character terribly attractive and as almost sorry she'd put a stop to—everything. He was a surprisingly sensitive man beneath all his bold arrogance, and she sensed he would be a caring lover. Struggling to sit up, she was stunned at how wobble she felt. "Thank you, Darien," she offered.

He flicked her a cynical glance. "For what?"

"You know." She shrugged, wishing she had the nerve to touch his hand in gratitude, but knowing it would be the absolute wrong thing to do. "For being so gallant. I've known men who weren't half so nice about it."

He mouthed a curse, running a distracted hand through his moonlit hair. "I kissed you. It was my fault." Pushing himself up to stand, he held out a hand. "We'd better get back. I think my ego's had enough of a workout tonight."

She would have avoided his touch, but knew she was too shaky to stand on her own. He affected her so thoroughly; his kisses were debilitating—deliciously so. when she placed her fingers in his, he helped her to stand. Dipping down, he picked up his shirt and placed it about her shoulders. She was grateful, for it was getting chilly. "Thanks," she murmured without looking at him.

They walked side by side for a few minutes before he placed his hand about her waist again. "Don't panic," he cautioned, derision in his tone.

"Why are you angry?" she asked, peering sideways at him. "Or is that what sexual frustration does to a man?"

He frowned down at her. "I've never heard of sexual frustration as a remedy for headaches. Does that answer your question?"

A giggle bubbled up in her throat and she was startled by it. "Sorry," she whispered. No doubt her tattered nerves were getting the better of her.

He grunted. "You have an interesting sense of humor."

"I'm not laughing at you," she insisted. "I think—I could be having a nervous breakdown from all the stress. I don't even like you, and I almost—we almost…"

His frown deepened. "You're not having a nervous breakdown. You're experiencing what _almost_ having sex does to virgins."

She sobered. "You're such an expert on virgins?"

"Let's change the damn subject."

Unable to let it drop, she demanded, "How many virgins have you deflowered?"

"Fifty-two at last count."

She stumbled to a halt. "That's disgusting!"

"_Hell_!" He turned on her. "It's also bull. If I were the womanizer everyone thought I was, I wouldn't have time to eat, let alone run a business."

She stared at him, his unexpected admission defusing her indignation. "You wouldn't?"

He shook his head at her obvious stupefaction. "Come on."

"Well, how many, then—really?"

He exhaled loudly. "Even if you were my wife, it wouldn't be your business."

She flushed. "Did you promise any of _them_ marriage?"

"I promised them whatever they wanted to hear."

She whirled to stare at him.

He half grinned at her horrified expression. "Promises are made to be broken, Ms. Tsukino," he remarked with a contemptuous flare of his nostrils. "I learned that lesson early and well."

"And—and what of their feelings when you broke those promises?"

"What of them?" he asked without inflection, turning away.

She felt his arm encircle her waist again, and shuddered, but not from dislike of the man, from the pain she'd seen flash across his face, the sadness shading his words. _Good God, what had done this to him?_ What had wounded him so badly that it made him so contemptuous of intimate relationships?

Without hesitation, she wrapped her arm about his waist, really wanting to for the first time. She wished she had whatever power he needed to heal the tragic gash in his soul. "Darien?" she asked after a few strained minutes. "Why didn't you make me some empty promises back there—to have your way with me on the beach? Surely you could tell I was—weakening."

She could feel his muscles tense at her question, but his step didn't falter. By now they were nearing the partygoers, and the ban was playing a lively version of "Red Red Wine," a popular reggae tune.

"Darien," she coaxed. "Why? And don't say it was because you didn't want me, because I could tell you did."

He stopped and turned to fully face her. His lips lifted into a cynical smile, but the expression held a suggestion of melancholy. He scanned her face for a long minute. Finally he reached up to graze her hair with his fingers. Surprising her, he took her into his arms to dance. "You have sand in your hair, darling," he murmured, his breath teasing her temple.

As he held her against his chest, she could feel the strong beat of his heart, and she relished their closeness, even against her will. From the corner of her eye, she noticed that several of his stockholders had drawn near enough so that Darien was no longer at liberty to speak freely.

Or did he simply have no answer for her question?

Darien sat in his yacht's luxurious office, fitted with every possible electronic device a business tycoon might need, including satellite communications, computers, fax machines, color printers and copiers. It was late, and he was tired, but he wanted to go over the daily sales figures, even though his mind wasn't on them. His thoughts drifted as he stared at his hand and the four Caymanian coins Mikou had given him earlier that evening. They weren't worth more than one American dollar, but the old man had gone to so much trouble to deliver them.

He fingered the silver pieces, turning them in his fingers, wondering about the man who'd so painstakingly limped to the water's edge all the way from the house, to present them—along with a feeble hug.

His stare drilled into those damned coins and he fisted his hand around them, angry at the memories they conjured. His own grandfather had never hugged him. The cold bastard. Darien had been nothing to him but a means to an end. When Damon's son had proved ill equipped for the job, Darien had become Damon's last hope—the young prince who would succeed him as king of his automotive empire. Darien had been raised precisely for that purpose, like a champion stallion bred for speed and strength. Never once could he recall being hugged by his grandfather—just drilled, rebuked, molded, then forged in the kiln of Damon's iron will.

Opening his fingers, he scowled at the coins, irritated that his mind kept slipping to them and to Serena's grandfather. He was so devoted to her, and it was laughable how devoted Serena was to him—trying to pull off her preposterous scheme to clear his name. unfortunately for her, she couldn't lie her way out of a paper bag.

He was arrested from his dark musings when searching hands reached from behind him to slip down his shoulders and seductively skim his chest. He lifted his head with a jerk, startled by Serena's sudden show of passion. When she'd left him an hour ago, she'd seemed somehow warmer toward him, not quite so antagonistic. He was still confused about the softening in her attitude, yet he'd had no idea such sexy plans had been going through her brain. Maybe she was harder to read than he'd thought.

"Well, hello," he murmured. With a swell of masculine gratification, he took her wrist, pulling her around his leather swivel chair. It jolted him when the woman he'd coaxed into his lap wasn't his unpredictable make-believe bride, but his extremely predictable cousin by marriage, Ann Leyland.

"Hello, yourself, stranger." She snaked her arms about his neck. "I'm glad to see the excitement of having a new bride has worn off. Now maybe you'll have time for me." Her mouth was very near bloodred and open in an inviting pout.

He offered her a twisted grin. "I gather your mourning period for Alan is over?"

She laughed, the purr of a cat anticipating cream. "Don't pretend to be disapproving," she cajoled. "You and Alan were never close. He simply hated you, you know."

Darien lifted a brow. "Really?"

She toyed with the hair at his nape. "I don't blame him. You beat him at everything in school—president of the senior class, captain of the football team, you got all the cheerleaders…" She leaned closer to kiss the edge of his mouth. "It made me wonder if you were better than Alan at—everything…"

Darien sat still as she brushed the other corner of his mouth with hers. "Hmm?" she urged, coyly pressing her bikini-clad breasts against his bare chest. "He would have voted against you in favor of Seiya if he'd lived."

"And what about you?" he queried, knowing full well what she was going to suggest.

She shifted away to judge his expression, which he was careful to keep amicable. Smiling, apparently satisfied so far, she said, "Oh—I'm still trying to make up my mind. I thought—if we met privately—you might convince me to swing my votes your way." She paused, her smile going sly. "I'd hate to go against Alan's wishes without a good reason."

"I can see that," he said, hard-pressed to keep the disgust from his voice.

He could feel her stiffen then, and though she held on to her smile, he saw a flicker of worry in her eyes. She wasn't convinced he was buying it. But it was clear she had no intention of giving up. "How would you fell about a walk on the beach?" she cooed, stroking his earlobe. "I'm a very good—listener."

He surveyed her face. she was a beauty, with fashion-model cheekbones, a pert, turned-up nose, and full lips—painted read and slightly opened the way they were—well, the erotic symbolism was hardly lost on him. Ann had the sort of voluptuous body every healthy man dreamed of burying himself inside. He'd heard rumors for years of how freely she gave away her hedonistic favors, and tonight she was practically begging to give Darien an exhilarating ride—and in the bargain, her corporate votes. Not a bad night's work.

Instead of feeling pleased with the offer, he was very sorry for Alan. Though there had never been any love lost between the two cousins, Darien found himself pitying the man, wondering how he'd stood living with this self-centered cheat.

Granting her his most charming smile, he assisted her off his lap, then stood. "I think a walk would be nice." Taking her hand, he led her from the office, then down the hallway to the foyer and onto the deck. The breeze was cool, salty, and seemed sweet and pure compared to the cloying perfume that Ann wore. He helped her down the gangway, then drew his hand to his lips.

"What's this?" she asked through a giggle.

"It's goodnight," he said, releasing her. "Have a nice walk."

"But, Darien—"

"Ann," he interrupted, this time allowing his irritation to register in his tone. "Alan hated me. Feel free to do the same."

"But—but, Darien," she cried. "You need my votes!"

"Yes, I do," he returned.

"Then why?"

He glanced down at his hand, the one that clutched the damnable coins. "Hell if I know." Lifting his gaze to her thunderstruck features, he indicated with a nod that she leave. "If you'll excuse me, I have a call to make." Turning his back, he bounded up the gangway and headed toward his office.

Darien had gone directly from the party to his office, nearly an hour ago. Serena had known there was no way she could sleep. Her nerves were too overwrought. So she'd showered and put on the most conventional of the lingerie Aunt Jeannie had forced her to purchase, a white silk gown that reached down to a little further past her thighs. It was darlingly sheer, following the contours of her body to a disturbingly accurate degree. Even with the matching silk wrap, the ensemble was indecent.

She tried to read a novel, but her mind kept moving on its own to thoughts of Darien—his kiss, his anger, his quiet pain. She finally tossed the book down in aggravation and slid from the bed, deciding to go out on the aft deck to try to calm her nerves with the rare beauty of the tropical night.

She'd almost reached the double doors that led to the deck when a noise distracted her from her course. She turned in time to see Darien leading Ann along the hallway—_her hand in his_—toward the foyer.

She stilled in the shadows as they stealthily moved toward the exit. Ice spread through her veins. So _this_ was what he'd been doing in his office late at night! She bit her lip. _Serena, what are you getting so up in arms about? The man's not your husband. He has every right to seek out female companionship if he cares to. Don't be a jealous fool._

She found herself moving toward the foyer. Exactly why, she had no idea. When she reached the door that led to the deck, she cracked it open. Darien and Ann were on the dock now, and Darien was kissing her hand.

With Ann's giggle echoing in her ears, Serena soundlessly closed the door and slumped against the bulwark. Unable to fathom the dull ache that had begun pounding in her temples, she made her way to the master suite and closed the door at her back.

A half hour passed—or a hundred years—Serena couldn't be sure as she lay in the darkened cabin, staring out the picture window at a placid, moon-spangled ocean. Unfortunately the tranquil scene did nothing for her infuriated state, and that infuriated her even more. She had no right to be upset about Darien's choice of sexual partners. He was doing her a favor by going along with her lie. He owed her nothing! Of course he wasn't doing any harm to his chances of keeping his company under his leadership, either. And probably, tonight, he'd enhanced those chances further, as far as Ann's votes were concerned.

She gritted her teeth against the vision of the two of them together, and tried to think of other things—of Mikou's doctor saying that her grandpa would be fine with Aunt Jeannie's tender loving care—of her grandfather and Aunt Jeannie living happily for years and years, trailed by frolicking pugs. Damn that doctor. Why did he have to choose this week to be out of town!

Serena heard the unmistakable click of the door opening. Darien was coming to bed. She snapped her eyes shut, feigning sleep.

She could hear him cross the cross the room and enter his bath. When his head door closed, she opened her eyes again and glanced at the closed portal. Once the shower came on, she forced herself to turn away, trying to will herself to sleep. She didn't care to be awake when he came out. She might have an overwhelming urge to leap up and congratulate him on successfully winning Ann's votes—_and everything else she had to offer._

When he came out fifteen minutes later, she was still awake, and very sorry about it, especially when he walked around to stand before the window wall. Sensing where he'd gone by the faint brush of his footsteps, she covertly opened her eyes. His back to her, he was staring out to sea. A massive, compelling silhouette against the misty moon glow, his thick, black hair gleamed and his shoulders blotted out a great deal of the starry sky. He wore only a pair of dark nylon shorts, and his long sturdy legs were braced wide. She had the fanciful thought that no Roman warrior or Greek god had ever looked so potent or desirable in the moonlight.

Though she knew he was unscrupulous in his use of women, she couldn't help but admit he was a delicious sight. Unable to help herself, she stared at her tall, handsome antagonist towering there—all power and muscle—wishing she could simply close her eyes and forget that he existed.

Suddenly he bowed his head and mumbled a raw curse. She was puzzled, wondering what dark thoughts were going through his mind. He looked down at his wristwatch, evidently checking the time. He turned then, and she squeezed her eyes tight, trying to persuade her breathing to be slow, even, faking normalcy. Her task was made harder when she noticed he was moving _toward_ her.

Sensing his nearness, she fretted about what he might be doing. She made herself continue to breathe—in, out, in, out—working to keep her breaths deliberate and uniform, praying he wouldn't detect that she was not only awake, but that every nerve in her body was tingling with a blend of anticipation and dread. Why was he standing above her? He had to be studying her. But _why_?

A shrill ringing broke the night silence, and Serena was amazed that she managed to keep from leaping up and screaming. If she jumped at all, Darien must have missed it when he'd turned his attention to the noise.

He rounded the bed and jerked up the receiver on the phone. "Yes?" he whispered. After a brief pause he said, "Diamond, I'm glad your answering service found you. I need something done, but I can't talk here. Give me a second to get to another phone."

There was a faint clatter as he set down the receiver. A couple of seconds later, he was gone.

Serena opened her eyes and turned to look at the phone—the cordless was off the cradle, lying on the table. In the stillness, she imagined she could almost distinguish voices. Twisting away, she squeezed her eyes shut. The call was none of her business. Still, she couldn't ignore it. She recognized the name Diamond. He was the head of Shields Automotive's legal staff. Aunt Jeannie had spoken over him, referring to him as one of the most brilliant corporate lawyers in the country.

Rolling over, she stared at the phone, dim in the darkness, her heart hammering in her ears. If there was even the slightest possibility Darien was speaking to his lawyer about—she could hardly bring herself to even think of the idea—_about an audit of the books back when Mikou was fired?_

This was something her mother had dreamed of most of her life, something Serena had hoped with all her being. Beside herself with longing that it be true, she gave up her attempts to disregard the call and scrambled across the bed. Very stealthily, she bent to place her ear as close to the receiver as she could. Her heart in her throat, she stopped breathing, listening.

"But a forty-year old audit, Darien?" a compelling voice was shouting. "That will be nearly impossible—"

"Damn it, Diamond," Darien interrupted. "When I want _easy_, I'll hire a first-year law student. Just handle it." There was a loud click in Serena's ear as Darien severed the connection.

She straightened, her mind clouded with amazement. He was really going to do it! Darien was _really_ going to get to the bottom of Mikou's firing! She clutched her hands to her breasts, her heart filling with such gratitude—such affection—she wanted to rush into his arms, kiss him soundly. She'd been so wrong about him. Just because he was rich, tough-minded and successful, didn't mean her couldn't also be a fair, honest man.

She heard a creaking sound and realized Darien must be coming back. Jumping into the bed, she clambered to the far side and slid beneath the covers. A heartbeat later, he entered the room. After another second she heard the phone being replaced in its cradle. A few seconds later he climbed into his makeshift bunk.

Serena covertly shifted her gaze to where he was lying and smiled tremulously at his reclining form. A grateful tear trickled along her cheek. New feelings of softness blossomed in her breast for the man—soft feelings mixed with remorse.

She hadn't allowed herself to face it until this minute, but it suddenly hit her hard in the pit of her stomach. With what she'd learned about Darien Shields in the past week, she'd grown fond of him against her will. And now, with this unexpected noble deed, she feared she might be on the brink of falling…

She squeezed her eyes shut, choking back a moan, unable to even complete the idea in her mind. Such an improbable match was laughable, even to her.

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Things are really startin to get movin some direction...question is, is it only onesided...sorry it took so long people, but i actually changed the chap's direction completely...my original had actually gotten a little to out of control...ne ways tell me wat u think...:Kaci 


	8. Chapter 8

Okay ppl….my goal is to have this done in 10 chapters…with that said here's number eight…

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Chapter 8

With a new buoyancy in her heart, Serena was up before first light the next morning. Her gratitude was so great she'd hardly slept all night. So she resolved that activity was the best answer to her restlessness. She wanted to physically do something for Darien, and she knew the thing she wanted to do most—_physically_—would be damaging for her emotions in the long run, so she compromised, deciding the very least she could do was make him a good breakfast.

By the time the sun was shooting vertical beams from behind the clouds clustered on the horizon, Serena returned to their suite, her wicker tray loaded down with a hearty breakfast of waffles and maple syrup, sautéed tomatoes, poached finnan haddie, and a steaming carafe of coffee.

As she knelt beside the settee to rouse Darien, the beginning sprawl of orange fire burst from the edge of the sea, basking to room in a peachy glow.

Serena stilled as the morning light paid quiet respect to Darien's masculine good looks. His skin glowed bronze; his hair shimmered a magical color—like black diamonds. Black tipped lashes languished across the hollows bellow his eyes, hollows that appeared slightly bluish even in the blush of dawn. Serena was distressed to see the exhaustion that showed in his face during his unguarded moments. Yet, even as weary as his rough-cut features were, there was a stark beauty there, and she couldn't help but devour him with her eyes.

Her glance drifted to his lips, firm and slightly open, almost in invitation. Again she saw the tiny, white scar on his mouth. Flushing, she remembered the first time she'd seen the scar and had kissed him in her overmedicated state, thinking it made it well. Abashed at the recollection, she pulled her lips between her teeth, growing hot with a yearning to know the touch of those lips again, to kiss him gratitude for what he was doing for her grandfather.

She didn't dare think about her decision, fearing she'd change her mind if logic intruded. Hurriedly, she lowered her tray to the floor and bent to brush his lips with her own. The contact filled her with a giddy hunger to know his tender caresses, his unrestrained lovemaking, and that knowledge knocked her back on her heels. It wasn't a very bright thing to want, but there she sat, throbbing with desire for one of the world's _most_ desirable men. She slumped there, her hands icy on her burning cheeks, as she attempted to calm her breathing.

She heard him stir, and her gaze rocketed to his face. His eyelids were twitching and he shifted his head toward the light. She held her breath, unable to do anything but watch as he woke up. He blinked a couple of times, then seemed to register that someone what hovering nearby. When he squinted to focus on her, she flinched inwardly.

Trying to smile as though it was the most ordinary thing in the world for her to be crouched beside him while he slept, she mumbled, "Oh—you're awake."

Looking charmingly groggy, he ran a hand through his dawn-burnished hair. "If you don't want to wake a man, Ms. Tsukino, don't kiss him."

The fact that he knew what she'd done appalled her and she was glad the crimson flush of sunrise hid her humiliation. "I—I didn't kiss you!" It was a flimsy lie, but her other choices were worse. She couldn't bear for him to know that she dared kiss him while he slept. Or the other reason—her gratitude. She couldn't risk admitting her eavesdropping. He already thought of her as underhanded enough. Besides, she wanted Darien to tell her his good deed in his own way.

Ebony brows lifted mockingly. "I suppose it is safer for virgins to kiss unconscious men, but I can't imagine that it's very satisfying."

With renewed embarrassment, she looked away. Even unconscious, his kiss had stimulated her more than she cared to admit. However, she had no intention of divulging that information. She'd experienced enough humiliation for one sunrise. Instead she bent to retrieve the breakfast tray. "Here," she snapped, unceremoniously plopping it in the general area of his lap, since much of his body was hidden by a sheet. "I made you breakfast." Pushing up, she gave him a huffy glance and marched toward the exit.

"Why did you—"

"I told you!" she flung back, spinning to face him. "I did _not_ kiss you!"

He sat up and the sheet slipped down to expose his chest. "I meant, why did you make me breakfast?" he corrected softly, amusement in his tone. He swung his legs to the floor and adjusted the tray, never moving his eyes from her face.

Somehow that disconcerted her almost as much as the fact that she ad been more preoccupied with the kiss than he. "Why? Because—because I…" Again she toyed with the idea of telling him she'd eavesdropped on his phone conversation and knew the wonderful thing he was doing for Mikou. For a second time, she decided against it. Surely he would want to tell her what he'd done himself. Clasping her hands before he, she stuttered, "I—I guess I fixed your breakfast because I've concluded you're not the corrupt monster I thought you were—after all."

The humor in his gaze flickered out. "I'm flattered," he muttered, his tone sarcastic.

Having difficulty holding eye contact, she hurried on. "And—uh—I wish you luck with your stock vote thing. You were right, before. I _don't _like Seiya Braxton." She wanted to add that she didn't like his friend, Ann, either, but knew her opinion on that subject would be far from appropriate. After all, she and Darien weren't _really_ married. He had a right to find feminine companionship wherever he wanted.

His expression grew perplexed. "Ms. Tsukino, did something happen last night that I missed?"

She managed a faint smile at the irony of his question. Something very definite happened last night. Something merciful and unselfish and remarkable, and he knew exactly what it was. Unable to stand it anymore, she decided to urge the issue along. "Is—is there anything you want to tell me?"

He inclined his head as though considering the pros and cons of divulging something. "Well," he began, and Serena's heart skipped a beat. _Here it comes_! "I wasn't going to mention this, but you have a little flour on your nose."

Her excitement evaporated. The wide smile she'd presented quickly died, and she could only stare, deflated and tongue-tied.

"Oh, and thanks for the breakfast—Messy Miss," he added with a wry grin.

Ignoring the taunt, she stared at him, confused about why he was keeping the audit a secret. Then in a flash it occurred to her. _Of course!_ He didn't want her to worry—in case he found evidence against Mikou. That was ridiculous, naturally. Her grandfather would be found completely innocent. Still it was sweet of Darien to be concerned. She took a deep breath, feeling better, and rediscovered her smile. "I understand," she murmured. "No problem. I'll go clean the galley."

This time it was his turn to lose his grin. "You understand what?" he queried.

She was oblivious to what he'd asked, her mind working a mile a minute. If he was going to be so considerate, then the least she could do was to be considerate of him. "Is there anything we're doing tonight that I should know about?" she asked, determined to be fully prepared for anything.

"Just dinner around the pool." He was eyeing her curiously.

She nodded, self-consciously rubbing the back of her hand across her smudged nose. Even though their newlywed devotion was playacting, it didn't diminish her appreciation for what he was doing. He had worries of his own, yet he as considering her feelings and her grandfather's troubles. What a nice man he was turning out to be.

She had an impulse to run into his embrace and hug him, but she resisted, concerned that the fell of his arms about her was starting to mean too much. "Don't worry about a thing, Mr. Shields," she promised. "I'll be the most devoted bride you could hope for." She smiled, meaning it. "Have a good meeting."

His eyes narrowed further as she spun to go.

Serena spent her morning snorkeling, viewing the colorful fish that swarmed beneath the surface of Grand Cayman's warm, clear water. That noon, after stepping out of the shower, she noticed how pink her back and shoulders had gotten. Wrapping a towel about herself, she got a bottle of medicated salve out of the medical kit and perched on the edge of the bed to apply it to her stinging skin. Unfortunately she could only manage to reach her shoulders and a little more. She was struggling to coat her back when the door to their suite burst open.

She was so startled, she dropped the plastic squeeze bottle on the carpet. Knowing none of the servants would barge in without knocking, she knew Darien was making a surprise visit. Whirling toward him, she protectively clutched at her flimsily tied towel. "What—why…" she squeaked, but couldn't get out more.

He was scowling. "We're going to Hell," in intoned as he shrugged out of his suit coat and began loosening his tie.

Her stomach lurched at his threat. That, coupled with the fact that he was getting undressed, unnerved her. Her was stripping off his shirt now. What had happened? Had he lost his vote and then his mind? Why was he peeling off his clothes, talking about going to hell? She clutched tighter at her towel. "Now—now Darien," she stammered, taking a defensive backward step. "I—I can tell you're angry, and I know you've been under a strain. We both have. I also realize we both feel an attraction toward each other. But let's be rational. Animal lust won't solve anything!"

He was unbuckling his belt. With her last words, he paused, his gaze swinging to her face. "What?" he asked, his expression thunderous.

"I—I said," she began, then had to swallow several times. Her throat had gone prickly dry. "I—said, animal lust won't solve anything—not really."

He stared at her for a few tense ticks of the clock, then his expression eased. "Animal lust?" he repeated, his lips twitching. "An, my little virgin, just _who_ am I supposed to be lusting after?"

She clutched tighter where her towel was fastened between her breasts. Her heart was pounding so hard she feared the violent palpitations would loosen the knot if she didn't hold it together. "Well—you came bursting in here muttering that you were going to hell. I thought—"

He drew of his belt. "Actually, I said, '_We_ are going to Hell.'" He turned away to his dresser and pulled a pair of khaki shorts from his drawer. Only then did he turn back, this time amusement twinkled in his eyes. "Ms. Tsukino, your virtue is safe." His lips lifted further into an actual grin. "Unless _your_ animal lust gets the better of you, that is. I was irritated when I came in here. It bothers me that I've been forced to interrupt my work because some of the wives are bored and want to go sightseeing with their husbands.

Though he was standing there only half-dressed, there was nothing threatening in his demeanor anymore. Confused, she asked, "What does sightseeing have to do with going to hell?"

"Grand Cayman has a tourist attraction by that name."

"Hell?"

"Unusual rock formations. Nothing so sinister as eternal damnation."

"I can't imagine calling any tourist attraction Hell."

"There's a post office there. I understand it's quite the thing to send postcards from Hell."

"Oh?" Serena understood then, and smiled. "I think it's sweet."

"Sweet?" he queried crossly.

"Of course. I don't blame the wives for wanting to sightsee with their husbands while they're here. Haven't you ever wanted to share an experience with someone special?"

His expression grew hostile. "Not that I can recall."

She had a feeling he was lying, that somewhere, deep in his past, he was remembering closeness to someone, and he hated the fact that he couldn't wipe the memories from his heart. She wondered why.

"Nevertheless," he continued, "this afternoon, by majority request, we're going to Hell. It's very casual so don't dress up."

She felt stupid again and could feel her cheeks brighten to the same fiery color as her shoulders and back. "Yes, sir." She turned away, adding, "I'll get dressed."

"Good Lord," he said. "You're sunburned."

She nodded, but couldn't face him as she stooped to pick up the salve. "It doesn't hurt much."

"I'll bet." She could hear his approach. "Give me that."

She looked back, confused.

He took the bottle from her fingers. "Lift your hair."

"You don't have to—"

"I know. Lift your hair."

She did as she was told, holding up her damp tresses, presenting him with her back. He began a gentle stroking below her hairline, then moved down along her spine. The cool salve felt heavenly against her stinging skin, but it wasn't only that. His tender ministrations had a melting effect on her as his fingers comforted, eased, cooled her overcooked flesh.

"You'd better wear a T-shirt from now on when you snorkel," he admonished softly.

"I will." It came out sounding like a sigh. She closed her eyes, relishing the sensations as his hands slipped below her shoulder blades and on down to the edge of her towel. His fingers halted there. "How far down are you burned?"

"I—I can reach the rest."

"It doesn't look too bad, from what I can see. But I'd better do this again tonight. Don't let me forget."

Though she offered a minimal nod, she had no intention of reminding him to touch her like that, ever again. After all, she was only human!

A few more luscious seconds passed before he finished. "I think you'll live," he said, handing her the bottle. "I'll be changed in five minutes. When you're ready, meet us in the house. I've hired some limousines for the rest of my guests, but you and I, Aunt Jeannie and Mikou will take the 300."

She experienced a surge of excitement, then squelched it. For a second she'd thought he might want them all together so that he could tell them about the audit. But realistically, it was too soon for him to know anything. She smiled. "I can be ready in five minutes. No problem."

He nodded, rubbing the excess lotion into his hands. "I'll wait for you then." She had turned toward her dresser when he halted her with, "You really thought I was ripping of my clothes to attack you?"

She shrugged, feeling silly. Unable to look him in the eye, she admitted, "I thought maybe you'd lost the vote for control and had gone mad."

His wry chuckle filled the room. "For an innocent, Ms. Tsukino, you have quite a lewd imagination. I wonder why that is?"

She knew he was tormenting her, so she decided to keep her humiliated flush to herself and refused to turn around. Instead she fished through a drawer and drew out a boxy knit crew top and watching melon-colored shorts. "I'll be ready in a few minutes," she mumbled.

Melvin, Aunt Jeannie and Mikou were in the front seat of the 300, Darien and Serena in the back. At first Serena clutched her doorknob, but Darien's expression, and his wordless indication that Mikou would wonder about her aloofness, made her face the fact that she needed to slide over and snuggle with her pretend husband. Reluctantly she scooted across the seat. Her expression must have been terribly pained, because Darien grinned and shook his head. Once he'd draped a possessive arm about her, he leaned down, whispering, "Put your hand on my thigh."

She jerked to stare at him. "I will not," she whispered back. "And while we're on the subject, I don't think it's necessary that you kiss me in public anymore. They have the idea."

He arched a skeptical brow. "I thought you said you were going to be the perfect bride."

She had a sinking feeling at his reminder. He was right. She had promised. And she'd done it for a very good reason. She tentatively cast her gaze down at his leg. He was wearing long shorts, but quite a bit of his thigh was visible—solid, lightly furred and contoured with hard muscle. Swallowing, she snaked her hand out to lay it lightly across the relatively safe area above his knee.

"There," he said, "is that so bad?"

She refused to look into his laughing eyes, but asided under her breath, "Aunt Jeannie and Mikou are so involved in themselves they wouldn't notice if we were doing the tango back here."

As if to stress Serena's statement, Jeannie giggled and Mikou laughed at some private comment. She glanced at them, her heart easing at the soud of Mikou's merry laughter. How long had it been since he'd sounded that happy? She couldn't recall a time.

She was pulled away from her contemplation when Darien asked aloud, "What's so funny, you two?"

Jeannie twisted around. Serena was chagrined to see that the older woman's perusal immediately took in the fact that Serena's hand was on Darien's bare leg and Darien's arm was draped about Serena's shoulders. Her smile broadened. "Well Darien," she chirped, "I love you, dearly, but I must be blunt. Our conversation is none of your business. Mikou and I are old enough to have our private interests without reporting to you."

Mikou turned then, grinning. His arm was about Jeannie's shoulders, and he patted her. Serena thought he looked healthier. She didn't know if it was just the tan or possibly a new flush of health beneath the skin, but he looked better than she'd seen him look in years. He said, "Don't mind Jean. She cranky because Rube pouts when we leave. Roots under the bathroom sink and makes a bed in the clean towels. Quite the spoiled boy."

"Mikou, dear, of course, you're right." Jeannie turned her attention to the man beside her. "I'd appreciate your opinion on how to make him behave more civilly. We must discuss it—tonight."

They tittered again and went back to their hushed chatter.

Darien bent near Serena's ear. "Why do I feel they're having more fun than we are?"

She snapped around. "What do you mean by that?" she challenged, fearing she already knew.

He lifted his brow again in that taunting manner that was beginning to get on her nerves—or was it the feel of his rock-hard leg beneath her palm? Choosing not to dwell on it, she objected, "Don't be crude. Me grandfather's in his seventies, and he's not in good health. He wouldn't be—be…"

With a vague grin, Darien looked away. His low chuckle reverberated through her body, both troubling and thrilling her.

When the 300 pulled to a stop, the others had already poured out of their limousines and were milling around the area known as Hell. Serena noticed that most of the little sector off the main road in West Bay was as colorful as the rest of the island. Strategically landscaped palm and sea grape trees were shrugging and ruffling in the breeze. Beyond a parking area edged with flowering shrubs, she spotted a quaint post office and several diminutive souvenir shops.

Next to them, across a strip of green grass, was a wooden boardwalk that led out over a rocky area. What lay beyond it appeared to be lush, low jungle bush. Darien entwined his fingers with hers. "Come on, darling," he prompted with a grin. "Let's join the other _loving_ couples."

"You're so cynical," she retorted with a fake smile. "Why can't you just have a good time?"

"I wasn't raised to have a good time," he reminded roughly, though his expression remained charming.

They were heading toward the boardwalk. Other tourists were there, too, and the rumble of conversations was enough to drown out their comments. "I don't think I would have liked your grandfather," she asided, still maintaining her pleasant façade. He appeared happy, too, and though his smile didn't waver, his eyes narrowed. She had a sudden thought and asked, "What about your father? You never mention him."

Darien's grin faltered. "My father ran away to be an artist. He married an artist."

"They must have been fabulously talented. Their house is wonderful."

"Not particularly." They'd reached the boardwalk, and their steps reverberated along the wooden planks. "My grandfather gave the place to them."

Serena was surprised to hear that. "Why would a man as hard and unfeeling as Damon Shields give your parents such a palatial home? After all, didn't they abandon their family responsibilities—and most of all, didn't they abandon you?" she asked. "I don't understand why your grandfather would reward them for such despicable behavior."

Darien's eyes bored into hers. "Don't you?"

His bitter query was heavy with sarcasm. Serena blinked and frowned, trying to sort out her thoughts, trying to make sense of the mocking challenge in his words and the dark affliction in his eyes.

"Darien! Serena!" trilled Jean. "You're dawdling. Come out here and have a glimpse of Hell!" She waved with one hand, but held tightly to Mikou's fingers with the other. Fabricating a smile, Serena waved back.

All at once the ugly truth of Darien's question hit her like a crippling blow. His parents had _sold_ their only son to Damon in exchange for a life of luxury in paradise. She felt sick, growing weak at the realization. It took all her strength to trudge the remaining length of the boardwalk. When she reached the end, she slumped against the railing, pulling her fingers from Darien's. For if she hadn't clutched at the rough wood with all her strength, she would have collapsed.

Someone was explaining about Grand Cayman's Hell—something about the eerie formations resemble charred, clawing skeletons of damned souls, were really weathered rock called Ironshore. Not registering anything very clearly, she stared blankly at the grim scenery before her, thinking about damned souls and damning a few herself. Inhaling, she attempted to focus on the speaker's words, to blot out Darien's revelation.

"The Ironshore is a hard limestone," the guide was saying. "A million years ago it was pure white. Now it's been blackened by a layer of acid-secreting algae that erodes the rock into these distorted—"

_She couldn't do it. She couldn't just pretend Darien had never spoken those awful words, never challenged her to understand the heartless thing that had been done to him._ She spun away, covering her mouth with her hands in an effort to stifle a moan.

"Why, Serena, honey," Jeannie cried, "it's not really hell. It's just an enchanting joke."

She closed her eyes, working desperately to regain he composure, but she couldn't stanch the tears. _She'd seen all the hell she could stand, today_—in Darien's eyes. He'd been an innocent little boy bartered away like a prize steer by his own mother and father!

That was no joke. It was the cruelest act of selfishness she'd ever heard of in her life…

**

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bet youre thinking...wtf...OMG….yea well I thought I little background into why Darien's the way he is would help you to understand his character a little more….but what now? Guess you'll have to read on to find out…happy reading :Kaci:**


	9. Chapter 9

Happy Valentines Day all…: love is in the air hint hint :evil grin

I was definitely on a roll today...can you believe that three chaps in one day! omg...

Thanks for the reviews….I guess I have a lot of questions to answer...hopefully this chapter will do that for me….I'm on a roll here only one more left excluding this one and I plan to get it out ASAP…with that said here is it is…

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Chapter 9 

Serena sat on the dock under a starry sky. Dangling her legs over the side, she tried to bolster her mood by inhaling the tangy sea breeze. Ten minutes ago the darkened sky had erupted into a display of fireworks off in the direction of Georgetown. She'd watched the effervescent golden bursts fill the tropical night, wondering what was going on. But her emotions were in such turmoil, she couldn't work up enough enthusiasm to go back to the house to ask.

Another golden ribbon snaked high into the sky, erupting into an expanding ball of sparkling streamers that trailed down the inky canvas, gradually disintegrating into nothingness.

_Nothingness_. The word stuck in her mind like a painful hook. This was Friday; the week was nearly over. The vote would be tomorrow, and after that her time with Darien would be at an end. She would have nothing left of him but her memories. How ironic. A week ago she hated him, but today she was in love with him, rooting for him to maintain control of his company.

She thought of Seiya Braxton. Over the past few days she'd reevaluated her opinion of him. He was far from stupid. Under that male model exterior, he was devious and self-serving. She'd overheard him reverse himself more than once while talking to different board members, telling each what they wanted to hear. What a snake! Unfortunately, from bits of conversation she'd caught in passing, he had solid support among the more fretful members of Darien's family. Nevertheless, she had a sense that Darien was running ahead.

Darien's one flaw, if you could call it that, was the he wasn't willing to exaggerate the truth or wheedle the way Seiya did. He didn't tell one cousin one thing and then turn around and say the exact opposite to another just to get votes. She was even beginning to doubt that he and Ann had done anything lewd in his office that night she'd seen them there. Serena found herself having the absurd notion that the woman had tried to bribe _him_, and had been rejected. Or was that just wishful thinking? She was so confused. Most especially, she was confused about why Darien hadn't told her about the audit. Surely there was news by now.

"There you are."

She turned at the sound of Darien's voice. He was nearby and she was surprised she'd been so deep in thought that she'd missed his approach. She smiled, her pulse racing.

"So you came out to enjoy the kickoff of Pirates Week?" he asked.

"Oh, that's right." She recalled now. "I'd forgotten. Don't we have to go to some sort of party tonight?"

He sat down beside her, swinging his legs over the side of the dock. The ocean splashed and roiled against the pilings, offering a sultry rhythm in the night's stillness. "A costume party. I thought you'd be changing." He indicated the latest torrent of golden glitter that lit up the night. "The fireworks display kicks off the week's festivities."

"Jean mentioned it this afternoon. I—I guess my mind wasn't really on it." Serena felt sadness engulf her. The last thing she wanted to do was attend another party and pretend to be a lovesick newlywed. She'd never spent so much time in her life going to so many gala parties and feeling so guilty about it.

It wasn't only the ongoing lie that upset her. The _suspense_ about the audit was driving her crazy. Beyond that, she was going out of her mind waiting to her from Mikou's doctor.

She'd thought she'd explode if she didn't get some answers to something—_and right now._ While Darien scanned the sky, she examined his set face, his flexing jaw, his fixed eyes, and sensed he was uncomfortable with childhood memories of Pirates Week. She wanted to comfort him, to let him know that people could be caring, loving. Not all families deserted and bullied the ones they were supposed to protect and love.

Unable to hold back any longer, she touched his hand, craving closeness, wanting him to know he could trust her with his secrets.

"Darien," she whispered, "I—I know about what you're doing for Grandpa, and I think it's wonderful."

He turned to face her. "What?"

She smiled. "The _audit_. I know about the audit."

His eyes went wide for a split second, then narrowed. "How the hell did you find out?"

His sharp tone made her wince. But, naturally, a man as private as Darien would react that way—at first. "I—I admit, I eavesdropped on the phone the night you told your lawyer to look into Mikou's firing." She swallowed around the constriction that had formed around her throat. "It was noble of you to do that for Grandpa. The only reason I didn't mention it then was because I thought you'd want the pleasure of telling me yourself." She stopped, shrugged. "But you never did." When he said nothing, a tremor rushed through her, a premonition of sorts. "Why—why didn't you tell me, Darien?"

He gritted out a curse, turning away. His eyes were trained on the flashing fireworks, yet she had a feeling he wasn't aware of them and whatever he was seeing was very, very dark. In the tense stillness, the ocean made shushing sounds to the gossiping tradewinds, as though even the elements were awaiting his answer. "Why do you think I didn't tell you?" he finally muttered.

Shifting to come up on her knees, she said, "Because you didn't want to get our hopes up until you found something conclusive." She touched his hand again. It had curled into a fist. Hoping her first inclination was right, that this new dread blossoming inside her was a figment of her overwrought nerves, she ventured, "You do plan to clear Grandpa's name. That _is_ it, isn't it?"

He closed his eyes. The bright flashes of the fireworks made a stark tableau of his rigid profile. "No, Ms. Tsukino, that's _not_ it." Serena stared, frozen with fear as his nostrils flared.

He lifted his eyes to heaven and laughed aloud. The sound was so forsaken in the quiet it set the island birds aflutter in the trees. "You have a remarkably naïve way of looking at the world," he admonished.

"What are you saying?" Her mind numbed with shock, she was unwilling to accept the awful likelihood that Darien's motives were less heroic than she'd thought. "Do you mean to say you'd cover it up if you found out Grandpa was innocent—just to keep control of your company?"

He glanced her way, his brow dipping. "I was born and bred to run Shields Automotive Corporation," he said, a lethal coldness in his tone. "The livelihood of thousands of people rests on my shoulders. I'll do what I have to do to keep everything I've built from being destroyed." He got to his feet, asking tersely, "Would you like a hand up? The dance, remember?"

Dismayed, she gaped at him. How could he be so unfeeling? Nausea rose in her throat and she felt lightheaded. "And I thought Seiya Braxton was a snake!" she cried, lurching to her feet. "He'd have to take _snake_ lessons from you to be as low and slimy as you!" When she swayed unsteadily, he reached for her, but she avoided his help. "Don't touch me! And for your information, I wouldn't go anywhere with you—except to applaud your _hanging_!"

"If it will make any difference," he said grimly, shoving his hands into his slacks pockets, "I have work to do in my office. You'll be farther away from me if you go."

Trembling, she glared at him, trying to turn her love into loathing, but she knew her unspoken pain was alive and glowing in his eyes. _Good Lord! How could she have fallen in love with this man? How could she have been so foolish and trusting?_ Afraid she would fall to her knees if she didn't get somewhere to sit down, she whirled away. "Fine," she cried. "I'll go. But if you show your face, I'm _leaving_!"

The rope that bound Serena's wrists itched. Now she understood why the tattered, eighteenth-century gown she wore was called the Captive Lady costume. When she'd joined the board members and their spouses in the house, ready to attend the costume ball, Jean had apologized that she'd forgotten to include the piece of hemp required to bind her wrists. Then she'd proceeded to tie Serena's hands together.

She wanted to scratch, but knew she'd spill her guava punch. Looking down at her bound hands, awkwardly clutching the cup, she shook her head. Only Aunt Jeannie could have come up with such an outlandish costume. Jean had giggled, and insisted, "Naturally, you wouldn't want to dance without your darling Darien at the party." Serena was dying inside, yearning to scream that she never wanted to see the man again, let alone dance with him! Still, since she didn't have any desire to dance with anyone else, either, she'd merely forced a smile and nodded.

Now here she was, standing in the grand ballroom of a _real _castle, surrounded by swarthy pirates, serving wenches and all manner of birds and amphibians. The whole situation seemed surreal—all these wild, other-worldly characters milling, flirting, chortling, and swilling down tubs of rum punch.

Her heart constricted with sadness. Under other circumstances this would have been a-once-in-a-lifetime thrill. As it was, she wanted badly to be far, far away from here, from Darien, and—though it was an impossibility—to be able to forget the man she could have loved a lifetime.

Stifling a sneeze, she was reminded of the other piece of the costume Jean had neglected to include with the dress—the powdered wig she now wore. Jeannie had insisted that powdered hair was all the rage in the seventeen hundreds. Serena wrinkled her nose to ward off another sneeze. Powdering one's hair may have been what was fashionable three hundred years ago, but as far as she was concerned, all the custom accomplished was to make her nose tickle.

She glanced over the ballroom, looking for her grandfather and Jean, having lost track of them in the undulating crowd. In her search she spotted Seiya Braxton, the biggest devil she'd ever seen. He'd asked her to dance a couple of times, but she'd demurred, reminding him of her tied hands. He's seemed inordinately interested in whether Darien was coming tonight. She couldn't imagine his reason for asking, but continued to insist that he would be there if he could. Behind her bogus smile, she was praying that would _not_ happen. She didn't know if she could keep up the painful charade much longer.

She grew uneasy when she realized Seiya was still lurking a short distance away. He was chatting with Ann, who looked quite in character as a buxom serving wench. Uncomfortable with the view, she swung her glance away to inspect the room. Crystal chandeliers threw sparkling light across the beige moiré-covered walls and made the gilt trim glow. With the bank of paneled doors thrown open at both ends of the long room, the chandeliers tinkled as a blossom-scented breeze wafted over the two-hundred-odd guests.

A steel band, its members clad in flowered shirts and baggy trousers, was setting up, their break over. Serena tried to enjoy the music, but her thoughts had been too fragmented to distinguish between calypso, reggae and soca, though the leader announced each change in musical style for the benefit of the tourists among the throng.

She sighed, feeling drained. Placing her cup on the lavishly spread buffet table, she decided she'd search the garden area for her grandfather and Jean, make her excuses and leave. Even knowing she'd have to brave Darien's unwelcome company on the yacht, she couldn't stand perpetrating their fraud for one more second.

Turning, she saw a red-and-green papier-mâché Pirate Parrot wearing a gray tricornered hat. She recognized the plump arms that fluttered out from beneath its stiff wings. Familiar green eyes were visible through the breathing hole in the bird's neck. "How are you, my dear?" the bird called over the general commotion. "You look pensive."

Serena smile without humor. "I guess I'm a little tired, Aunt Jeannie."

Jean laughed. "I know you're trouble." She patted Serena's roped wrists. "You're missing Darien. It's simply a shame he works so much. To be frank, I was hoping his marriage to you would make him less driven. I suppose those years and years of Damon's influence will take time to change. Don't fret, my child. I know he loves you."

Serena swallowed uneasily. "Uh—where's Grandpa?"

"In the little turtle's room," Jeannie giggled. "Doesn't he make the cutest sea turtle you've ever seen?"

Serena's smile was real this time, and she nodded. "If you don't mind, I think I'll go back to the yacht. You and Grandpa have a wonderful time. Just don't overdo."

"Never fear, my dear. I'm sure we—oh—" She waved in the direction behind Serena's head. "There's my little sea turtle now. _Yooo-hooo, Mikou!_" She was already waddling away, without a second thought to their conversation. Serena shook her head. But could she really fault Jeannie for being totally focused on the man she loved? Serena had lost track of a lot of conversations during the past week, her thoughts had been so totally on Darien.

Ice spread through her stomach at the reminder of how hopelessly foolish she'd been. Anxious to escape, she turned toward the ballroom's distant entryway. The carved rosewood doors had been thrown wide to aid in circulation. Lifting her skirts as well as she could with her hands tied, she had taken only a few steps when a towering man swathed in a swirling black cloak stepped into the entrance.

The rakish buccaneer wore a black tricorne pulled low over his brow. A golden hoop hung from his left ear, and a black patch swathed one eye, giving him an ominous aura. His broad chest was glazed in blue-black silk, and his shirt was open to reveal a heavy gold chain; from it hung a hammered coin.

The lower half of his anatomy was sheathed in snug breaches that hid nothing of his masculine attributes. Self-consciously Serena dropped her gaze to his square-cut boots. Highly polished, they rose up to hug his mighty calves before folding back at his knees in a wide cuff.

She shivered, feeling disoriented, as though she'd suddenly stepped into a dark passage of history. Somehow the bindings at her wrists made an ironic kind of sense now. She could well imagine this physically magnificent man leaping aboard some hapless sea vessel and plundering and ravishing to his heart's content.

Casting off the idiotic notion, she lifted her skirts, again intent on leaving. But when the frowning pirate glanced in her direction, she couldn't move. She just stood there, her skirts gathered up, as his one hooded eye wandered leisurely from the top of her bewigged head to her bare feet. The brooding expression on his face softened, but only slightly. Lips, wide and well formed, lifted at one corner in a way that was cynical yet compelling.

Serena's heart pounded ferociously as the cloaked pirate began to wend his way through the throng in her direction. _No, it couldn't be_, she cried mentally. _Darien couldn't believe she'd melt into his arms tonight!_ Paralyzed as she was, she could only watch as he approached. When he drew close, her gaze shot to his one dark-fringed eye, which was narrowed speculatively.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded.

"Would milady care to dance?" he asked, ignoring her accusation and holding out a hand. Though she was highly affronted, the masculine grace of his move drew her perusal. Beneath the froth of dark ruffles grazing his knuckles, she stared at his long fingers, craving their sensual touch. Hating herself of having any desire for a man who had not heart, she jerked her bound hands.

"I wouldn't dance with you _even if I could!_"

A melancholy smile trailed across his lips and he startled her by dipping low, drawing a dagger from his boot. The weapon flashed evilly, evoking from her a fearful intake of breath. With amazing adroitness, he severed the cord that bound her, then deposited the dagger out of sight. "You are free, milady," he remarked softly.

She didn't even have time to react before he turned and walked away from her. Just like that? Why that upset her, she had no idea. Certainly it was better this way. _Certainly!_ Then why was she moving toward him? What did she think she was going to do? "Darien!" she called.

He stopped, turned, and inquiring expression on his face. "Yes?"

She shuffled to a halt, a flush creeping up her cheeks. "Uh—I—" Her mind was spinning. She couldn't just stand there! What was she going to say! _Don't go! I love you! Why can't you be the honorable man I thought you were?_ Not if she had any sense left at all. "I wish it were that easy," she finally blurted out after a couple of false starts. Tearing the remaining rope from her wrists, she cried, "_Being free of you!_" She flinched at the sob that had escaped with her words.

A look of weary sadness flashed across his features. He reached toward her, but she stumbled away. His features closing, he muttered, "I wish it were, too."

His voice had been strangely hoarse, as though he actually regretted what he had to do to save his company. Her heart took note, but she fought her upsurge of tenderness. "I hope Seiya Braxton beats you tomorrow!" she snapped back, knowing it was the most blatant lie she'd told in all her blatant lying. Lifting her skirts, she whirled away, heading for the exit, hoping she could reach the cover of darkness before her tears began to spill.

"May I have your attention, please?" someone said, and Serena slid to a halt. She twisted around, sensing trouble. The voice was unmistakably the deep, reverberating of Seiya Braxton. He'd interrupted the band and was standing on the elevated platform. Peering at Darien, she noticed that he, too, had turned, and was scowling in Seiya's direction.

The grotesque devil was holding his plastic fork beneath one hand and was grinning broadly at the confused crowd. "I know most of you folks don't know me. I'm Seiya Braxton, a guest here on your beautiful island, and my host is Darien Shields." There was a murmur in the gathering. It was clear that the locals knew of the Shields home, even if they'd never met the owner. Seiya indicated Darien. "There he is. And a fine host he is, too."

Most of the partygoers turned toward the handsome pirate towering over the throng, but Serena continued to stare at Seiya, trepidation slithering along her spine. _What in the world was the man doing?_ She clasped her hands together, wishing he'd get to the point.

"I've been Darien's guest for a week now," he went on, his irritating voice bouncing off every wall. "And for a week now, we've been treated to the added company of his new bride, Serena."

To her horror, Seiya indicated where she was standing. Flushing, she lowered her eyes as several hundred strangers turned to inspect her. She hoped she didn't visibly quake under all the perplexed scrutiny.

She was sure the partygoers were as bewildered by Seiya's surprise speech as she. _Please, Seiya, _her mind railed. _Get on with it. If you're going to make one of your syrupy-sly "Notice how thoughtful and therefore worthy of the presidency I am" speeches, get it over! _This was embarrassing.

"Well, I've known Darien all my life, and I'm fond of him." Serena bit her lip. What a consummate liar the man was. "Yet, in all the years I've known him, I never realized what a jokester he could be. I thought his other guests would enjoy knowing what a trick he's played on us this week. You see, Darien is not _really_ married at all. It's all been a boyish prank. I know I'm having a good laugh about it, and thought all his friends should be in on the escapade."

Serena's head snapped up. There was a low-pitched buzzing among the members of the audience. Clearly, Darien's board members weren't taking this news in stride. Seiya's method of divulging the lie had been almost criminally deceitful, announcing it at a huge party, pretending it were a lark when in reality he was purposefully ruining Darien's life in a most cruel and public was way. _The bastard!_

Her gaze shot to Darien. He was staring at her, his teeth clenched, his eyes communicating hard fury. It had struck her then. _Darien thought she'd told Seiya about their conspiracy—to get even!_

She stood rooted there, transfixed as he stalked to her, his blue gaze slashing like talons. "Congratulations," he growled. "You got your revenge with theatrical flair."

She opened her mouth to protest, to defend herself, but he cut her off. "If you think your grandfather's situation will be any better under Seiya, Ms. Tsukino, you're more naïve than even I gave you credit for." He glowered at her for another second, then turned away to deal with the board members converging on him. Serena watched helplessly as he strode away, the image of a man walking into a den of hungry lions, unarmed, yet with his head held high.

Several of the board members' wives were glaring at her, but none approached. She detected condescension and disdain in their attitude and felt deep shame. She knew what they were thinking. But anything she said to try to repair her reputation would fall on deaf ears. Besides, her reputation was the least of her troubles right now.

The band began to play again, something light and lilting, but as far as Serena was concerned it might as well be a death dirge.

_Death dirge._

Her heart clenched in panic. _Grandpa!_ Where was he? How had he taken the ghastly tidings? She checked over the room. Unable to see him anywhere, she prayed he'd been outside in the garden, that he hadn't heard the announcement. Rushing toward the open doors at one end of the ballroom, she prayed she'd find him out there with Jean, so she could explain it to him, help him understand.

"_Serena! Serena!_"

She spun at the sound of Jean's stricken voice, terror shoving her heart to her throat.

It's _Mikou_," Jeannie cried, struggling out of her stiff costume. Once free of it, she ignored her twisted and bunched sweatsuit, waving frantically. "_He's collapsed!_"

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i didnt even expect that to happen...but it seemed to fit...o well...one more to go...tell me what you think...as a matter of fact tell me what you think should happen, im open to ideas...if i get a good one i may even change what i have inmind and credit the source of course...lol...lata:**Kaci**


	10. Chapter 10

_Alright people… Let's see now, gotta thank you guys, my loyal readers. Couldn't have written this w/o you guys…definitely my sis for proofreading this and assisting me in writing the ending…anyway enough of that, here is the long awaited for final chap…just letting you know from now, it is going to seem somewhat rushed because I felt it was time to just end it because if I made it any longer we'd be looking at another dilemma with a few more chaps and to be honest i'm not up for it…sorry_

_Also I really wanna move on to my next story. Its one that my sis and I co wrote on…of course it's a Serena/Darien and I hope it's as successful as this one was….back to this story now…**here it is the final chap**…_

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Chapter 10

Serena hailed Mikou's doctor and one of her closest friends, a fairly young, quite captivating young woman in a white coat, heading down the hospital corridor. "Amy," she called, hurrying to cut her off so that she could have a quick, private chat with her.

The doctor turned, adjusted her small glasses, and then smiled, her light cheeks lifting in a smile when she saw who it was. "Serena," she said her high pitched voice in harmony with her small and womanly stature. "You're looking much better." She took her friend's hand into one of her vacant ones and gave it a squeeze. "I gather you've finally gotten yourself some sleep."

She returned the gesture. "Well, once Grandpa was out of danger, I managed." She neglected to mention how a certain, dark-haired pirate continued to invade her dreams, no matter how she tired to force him from her brain. "I just wanted to thank you, again. Grandpa's recuperating from his heart attack so well."

Dr. Anderson pursed her lips, nodding. "Extremely well, considering it's only been two weeks. I'd say much of it's due to the delightful Miss Shields how hovers about him." She chuckled. "She has the demeanor of a lovable puppy, but where it comes to your grandfather, she's a tiger protecting her cub."

"Yea," Serena agreed, abashed. She'd seen Jean berate everyone from his day nurse to the hospital food service staff. "I-I'm sorry about that. Aunt Jeannie's a little one-tracked where it comes to Grandpa." She paused, swallowed nervously. "What I wanted to ask was this. You know Jeannie and Grandpa are getting married today. What—what would you say his prognosis is—I mean, do you think he'll…" The words trailed off. She couldn't voice her fears.

Dr. Anderson smiled kindly. "As I've said before, your grandfather had given up on life in the rest home. He was dying, and there was nothing I could do for him. When he heard about your marriage—" She stopped, shook her head, knowing it was a sore subject. "Anyway, that news gave him a will to live. And when he wanted to see you, I knew there was no stopping him. Besides," she added, pushing her glasses more securely on her small nose, "I couldn't refuse him what I felt would be his last chance to see you." Her expression brightened. "Little did I know the effervescent Jean Shields would come bubbling into his life. Between you and that woman, he was starting to flourish."

"But—but the attack," Serena reminded her.

The doctor nodded. "Ah, yes. Well, the bad news about your marriage not being real was too much for him. He was still very weak." Touching her arm reassuringly, she added, "But I believe that with his new will to live, and with plenty of rest, good nutrition and sensible exercise, he can thrive."

Serena's eyes filled with tears of relief and gratitude. "Oh, god Amy. That's the best news I've had in—in…" She hugged her friend's small shoulders, unable to go on.

"There, there," she soothed. "As I've said before, medical science can only do so much. Be grateful to yourself and that irrepressible tigress sitting in there beside him."

Serena stepped away, wiping at a stray tear. "I—thank you, Doctor."

She removed her glasses and placed them in her coat pocket, nodding. "Well, if you'll excuse me, I have to tend to some patients who need me more than your grandfather does." She gave her a heartening grin and walked off.

Serena smiled tremulously, the doctor's words a balm to her bruised soul. She'd felt such guilt over the way her grandfather had found out about the marriage lie, she didn't know if she could bear it if he had died.

Shaking off the horrible thought, she looked down at her light blue linen dress, smoothing out tiny wrinkles more from jangled nerves than any real need. With a despondent sigh, she wondered why she couldn't rid herself of a nagging restlessness these days.

Tucking back a strand of hair that had escaped her ponytail, she reminded herself that all was well. She owed Darien a grudging debt of gratitude for having Mikou airlifted to Miami, she knew. And she'd get around to writing him a polite not of thanks—someday. But right now she was too hurt. How could he have believed she was the one who'd told Seiya about the fake marriage? She'd be the last person to do anything to put her grandfather's health in jeopardy with such a negligent act.

She shook off the distressing thought and took a heartening breath. Darien was well out of her life. Grandpa was doing fine and he was happy for the first time in years. Any minute, the minister would arrive to marry him to the woman he loved. She should be completely delirious.

She pivoted towards Mikou's room, but came to a stunned halt. Unable to believe her eyes, she stared, and then blinked. But the image refused to disappear.

Before her stood Darien Shields, a muscle throbbing in his perfect square jaw as he observed her approach. Her breath caught in her throat, and it was painful to breathe. The man was magnificent. There was no other word to describe him. A living, breathing monument to masculinity, he wore a classic black, custom-made suit that fit his athletic body impeccably. His shirt was snowy white and his silk tie a subtle pattern of gray, black and a shade of blue that set of his eyes to distressing perfection.

Under the fluorescent lighting, his jet black hair gave off the features of his face, making him seem even more perfect. Almost like a heavenly being rather than the hard-hearted business man he was.

"What—what are you doing here?" she rasped.

His lips lifted ruefully. "It's nice to see you, too."

No matter how she tried, Serena couldn't drag her gaze from his face. Why, oh, why, did he have to be so damn handsome? He was even more so good-looking than in her troubling dreams, though there was a definite cast of fatigue around his eyes. She felt a jumble of emotions. Some were soft and yearning, and that irritated her. "You're not welcome here," she objected.

He crossed his arms before him. "Perhaps not by you. But I was invited to this wedding."

She blanched. Why didn't she realize Aunt Jeannie would never consider getting married without Darien in attendance? She only wished she'd been warned. Maybe then she could have prepared herself, feigned icy indifference.

Belatedly trying for that, she lifted her chin and breezed past him. "I won't ruin Grandpa's wedding with a quarrel. However, I don't see how you can show your face—"

There was a halting grip on her wrist. "Serena," he cut in. "I'm sorry for thinking you told Seiya about us." She reluctantly faced him, surprised by his apology. "I know, now, he must have been the one eavesdropping on the beach that night." With undisguised contempt in his voice, he added, "It would be like him to wait for the most damaging moment to spring it on everyone."

Serena frowned. Though she wanted badly to hate this man, her heart betrayed her by rushing to the place where his flesh touched hers. "Well—" she began breathlessly. "At—at least you've owned up to _one_ of your mistakes. She inhaled and lowered her voice to mask its trembling. "I heard you got the board to put off the voting until next month. That must have taken every ounce of your gift of gab."

He shrugged. "I still have a few supporters on the board."

She eyed heaven. "You continue to amaze me, Darien. You could talk a bull into giving milk."

Thoughtful dark eyes searched her face as he murmured, "Thank you."

"It's _not_ a compliment!" Wanting the awkward contact between them to end, she jerked on his hold. "Please let me go."

"They've found something irregular in the audit," he said, ignoring her plea. "Diamond can't tell yet if it helps or hurts Mikou."

She stilled. "Audit? Don't tell me you're going through with that. Why would you?"

"I guess I want to know the truth."

She gritted her teeth, the anger billowing. "Though once you find out Mikou is innocent, nobody else will ever know!" She jerked again. "_Let go!_ I see Reverend Gateway coming."

He did as she asked this time, but his fingers lingered against her wrist. It upset her that she was allowing it, that she was also delaying. With that appalling realization, she lurched toward the reverend with as much enthusiasm as she could muster, while her disobedient thoughts tarried on Darien.

Jean was as radiant as any bride had ever been, dressed in her Dolly Parton wig and a white silk sweat suit. She carried a bouquet of red hothouse tulips. She'd confided to Serena that, according to her Victorian flower book, red tulips symbolized a perfect lover, which, she'd shyly admitted, he darling Mikou was—and would be again once he was well.

She'd had a boutonniere made for Mikou, fashioned from one red tulip and a sprig of baby's breath. He looked darling in his crisp, yellow seersucker pajamas with the bright tulip pinned over his heart. Even though he was pale, having lost his tan, he'd gained a few important pounds and looked less frail.

Jean sat beside the hospital bed, holding his hand. The reverend had stationed himself at the foot of the bed and was reciting the marriage vows as thought he were delivering a rousing sermon.

Serena stood beside Aunt Jeannie, serving as her maid of honor, while Darien stood on the other side of the bed. Mikou's best man.

Serena's mind drifted from time to time, and her glance veered waywardly toward Darien. Once, he caught her looking at him and passed her a rueful grin. Disconcerted, she looked away.

Before she knew it, the reverend was pronouncing Jeannie and Mikou man and wife. The new Mrs. Mamou leaned over the bed and gave her husband a loving kiss on the lips, then once again on the cheek, whispering and cooing and patting his face. It was such a sweet scene; tears welled in Serena's eyes.

Suddenly something flew at her, and in a reflex action, she reached out to defend herself. A split second later she found herself clutching Jeannie's bouquet. "Well, my dear," Jeannie said, her cheeks bright with the blush of a new bride. "I certainly hope you and Darien take the hint and get your sweet selves back together." She took Serena's hand and reached across Mikou, beckoning for Darien to grasp her fingers. "You two can deny it all you want, but it _know_ you were in love back there on Grand Cayman, and legal marriage or no, you belong together!"

Serena was mortified by Jeannie's declaration. She shot Darien a wide-eyed glance. He was watching her, his expression unreadable. He continued to do so even as he bent to kiss his great aunt's fingers. "I wish you and Mikou all the happiness in the world," he murmured, as though he'd thought nothing of Jeannie's admonition at all. _Mr. Cool, Mr. Unruffled_. When he withdrew his hand, he transferred his gaze to Mikou, squeezing the man's shoulder. "You're looking well, Grandpa."

The older man chuckled. "Thanks, my boy. But I can't say the same for you. You seem kinda worn down. If I was feeling a little better, I'd go give that Seiya Braxton a piece of my mind for giving you such worries."

Serena released herself from Jeannie's grip. "If you'll excuse me," she murmured. "I—I have to check on the cake." It was a flimsy excuse. They all knew the cake was across the hall in the nurses' lounge and didn't need checking on. But she couldn't stand being near Darien any longer. It was just too painful.

She hurried into the lounge, almost colliding with a hospital volunteer preparing to wheel in the cake. She told the woman to go ahead, then discovered she was still clutching Jeannie's bouquet. Dropping it on the card beside the cake, she escaped down the hall toward the most distant drinking fountain. She wasn't thirsty, but she decided the long trek would serve as a delaying tactic. Surely Darien could tell his presence upset her. If he were any kind of gentleman he would have his piece of cake and leave. Well, whether he was a gentleman or not, she planned to loiter out here until he was gone.

After a long, slow drink of water, she straightened in time to see Darien exit her grandfather's room. He stopped, glancing one direction, then the other. His features grew somber when he saw her, and he plunged his hands into his slacks' pockets, watching her watch him. His stare was intense, brooding, and Serena had the oddest sense that he was photographing her with his mind.

The strain of each ticking second that he continued to stare wore at her already abused nerves. Her lips began to quiver, and her pulse thrummed like thunder in her ears, but for some demented reason, she couldn't break eye contact.

Abruptly, his lips dipped in a deep frown and he pivoted away, his clipped tread resonating on the polished tile. When he'd disappeared around the corner, she felt a deep sense of loss, like a steel weight dropping on her heart.

Serena was starting over on a brand-new yacht with a brand-new boss—and, hopefully, a brand-new lease on life. It was the first day of December, one month into Mikou's recovery. Just that morning she'd seen the newlyweds off on a belated honeymoon cruise aboard the _Silver Cat_. Mikou looked wonderful and was so happy. She'd wanted to go along and cook for them, but Jeannie confided it would be inhibiting to have her groom's granddaughter on the yacht while they were honeymooning.

She smiled to herself and shook her head, wondering what Jeannie and Mikou had in mind that she would so inhibit them from doing. Her smile faded as she recalled Darien's amused comment back on Grand Cayman, when he'd suggested that Jeannie and Mikou were having more than they were. She bit her lip, trying to sweep all thoughts of Darien from her consciousness. She had a new job on an even more luxurious yacht, with the interesting name _I Love You_. The animated, pleasant captain had gotten the opulent yacht under way a couple of hours ago, and Serena had just finished preparing a sumptuous meal for two.

She hadn't me the yacht's owners—a newlywed couple—having been hired by their representative on Aunt Jeannie's glowing recommendation. The man had given her complete instructions as to the first meal—a gourmet feast by candlelight.

The one thing she regretted about he new job was that she would be working for a honeymooning couple. It would be touch tamping down memories of her own make-believe honeymoon while two young people, very much in love, would be there to remind her during this month-long Caribbean cruise.

When the buzzer sounded, signaling that the couple was ready to eat, she checked her appearance in the shiny surface of the stainless-steel refrigerator. It relieved her to see that for once she didn't have a streak of anything on her new white uniform.

She picked up the silver tray carrying the salads, wondering why she had such poor luck with stewardesses. The one that was supposed to be helping with dinner had disappeared just the way Mina always had on the _Silver Cat_. As she carted her burden down the hall to the dining salon, she wondered idly if there was a stewardess school somewhere that taught a course in Effective Disappearing When It's Time To Serve Meals.

Serena entered a salon resplendent with rich teak walls, fine linen and gold-accented sterling. She was all smiles, wanting to make a good first impression. But just inside the door her smile died as dismay flew through her.

Darien Shields was standing there, so casually handsome in white slacks and a grey polo shirt, it made her heart ache. He seemed his calm, collected self, his hands resting lightly on the back of one of the Queen Anne chairs.

"Hello, Serena," he said with a small smile.

In a shocked stupor, her glance slid to the table where there were two places set. Her heart turned to ice and dropped to her feet where it shattered into a million pieces. _Had he married? Would she have to serve the man she loved on his honeymoon—with another woman? What sort of twisted vengeance was this?_

Before she knew what was happening, he'd removed the tray from her stiffened hands and set it soundlessly on the tablecloth. "It's good to see you." He took her hand. "Why don't you sit down, you look pale."

The touch of his fingers snapped her out of her paralysis, and she staggered away from his touch. "What is this?" she croaked. "Why am I here? I have no intention of working for _you_!"

"Serena," he murmured, advancing on her and taking her gently by the shoulders. "Sit down." His eyes were compelling, his voice tender. "We have to talk."

She stiffened. "Darien, I can't think of anything you could possibly say that would—"

"I love you, Serena," he broke in softly, but not so softly that she didn't hear the words.

She stared, disbelieving. "What—did you say?" She asked the question with a stern edge to her words, anticipating one of his tricks.

He reached up to smooth a loose strand of her hair. "I said, I love you." Indicating a chair with a nod, he asked, "Now, will you sit down?"

There was a wild fluttering in her stomach, but she refused to believe him. The man was so full of guile she didn't know what to expect anymore. Shaking her head, she backed away. He was looking at her with a seductive gleam in his eyes. She was so confused. _What in the world was his game?_ "No—you don't love me. This is some sort of—of a—"

"Proposal," he murmured. Stepping forward, he gathered her into his arms and drew her against him. "Marry me."

Before she could call for help, he'd lowered his lips to hers, his kiss slow and persuasive, draining the fight from her. She found herself pressed against his lean body, relishing the male texture of him, craving more.

He wrapped his arms more securely about her, his hands delighting the hollow of her back, quickly drawing from her the last shred of her resistance. She moaned, her brain battling with her emotions—her need at war with her good sense. Had he really proposed marriage? Had he meant it? And even if he had, could she marry a man with so few scruples? For a heartbeat she swayed between sweet temptation and painful truth, that knife-thin edge encountered by all lovers.

Issuing up all her disgust of his amoral business methods, she fought her desire, wrenching her lips from the wonder of his. "You have a colossal ego, Darien," she panted, promising herself she wouldn't fall prey to his infamous empty promises. "Now, let me go before I scream for help!"

"Who do you think will come to your aid?" he countered, his tone husky and disconcertingly intimate. "This is my yacht."

She shivered at the thought. He was right. She was at his mercy. Feeling miserable, she could only stare into his eyes, so near, so alluring. Why did she have to love him? Why did her body have to quiver from his touch? She could never give herself to a man she didn't respect. "I—I think maybe I'd better sit down," she managed at last.

He led her to a chair, then took a seat beside her. When his thigh brushed hers, she tried to move away, but found she was too weak even for that.

He chuckled. For the first time since she'd known him, his laughter was devoid of cynicism. "Your lie about being married to me was a stroke of luck," he said. "It got me to initiate that audit."

She shifted to focus on his face. He was looking at her with a tenderness she'd never seen before. And he seemed in a strangely good mood. Of course, he wasn't the one being held captive on a ship at sea!

"It was another stroke of luck that day in the hospital after you left Mikou's room," Darien went on, "when your grandfather reminisced about working for the company, about Seiya's father and grandfather, Clay and Seymour, the original bookkeepers. The remark about Seymour being a genius with figures, was what got me thinking."

Serena frowned, trying to follow what he was saying, but his scent clung to her, taunted her with every breath she inhaled, making it hard for her to concentrate. "Thinking?" she echoed.

He nodded. "About how a genius bookkeeper might be able to frame someone else for embezzlement."

Serena stared at him, uncomprehending. She tried to shake the cobwebs of longing from her brain. His nearness had become so debilitating, she couldn't even trust her hearing anymore. It as all garbled and sounded so far away. But it seemed as though he was telling her that someone named Seymour had been the real embezzler all those years ago.

Darien grinned. "I was afraid, for a while, it had been my grandfather." He shook his head, his smile fading slightly. "It's not as though Damon was an angel by any stretch of the imagination, but I needed to know if he was a thief, too."

Serena sat up, stunned. _That was what he was saying!_ Seymour Braxton had embezzled from the company, and then framed Mikou for the crime.

"Of course, Seymour's dead," he explained. "But finding out about him go me curious about something else. That's when I ordered the confidential company audit. The report came back yesterday."

She stared blankly at him. "Yesterday," she repeated, at a loss as to what he was talking about now.

"The irregularities uncovered in Seiya's department went back for years. Kickbacks, out-and-out thievery. Obviously Seymour passed along his genius with fixing numbers to his son and grandson."

Serena's lips dropped open when she understood what he was saying. Seiya Braxton was not only a conniving sneak, but he was a swindler, too! She'd always blamed the Shields's—hated them—and all the time they'd been as innocent of wrongdoing as her grandfather!

"So," he went on, "as of today, I'm undisputed president of Shields Automotive Corporations and Seiya is facing fraud charges. The story should be making the newspaper headlines about now."

"Oh, Darien…" she breathed, his revelations finally piercing her benumbed brain. But her happiness was tainted. Mikou was _innocent_, yet he hadn't even mentioned that. Apparently that was insignificant as far as he was concerned. "Of course, I—I'm happy for you, but that doesn't change—" Finding strength in her feelings of injustice to her grandfather, she vaulted up and moved from his dangerous nearness. She couldn't forgive him for not publicly clearing his name. it was so little to ask, after all! "I insist that you turn this boat around and take me back," she blurted, heading toward the exit.

When he made no protest, she found herself slowing. _The man had proposed marriage to her!_ How many times had she had that dream, only to awaken and find it disappear like a flimsy mist. Why had he done it? He couldn't _really_ love her and treat her grandfather so heartlessly. To her, that was an unforgivable sin.

At the door she found herself going stock-still. Unable to help herself, she twisted around. "You have everything you want now," she accused, her voice ragged. "I hope it makes you happy…"

"I have everything—but you," he admitted, his gaze dark and earnest.

She felt stricken, torn, but knew she could never be content with a man so selfish and cold as Darien had been raised to be. "I couldn't love a man who would treat my grandfather with such indifference."

He seemed mystified, and gave her a searching look. "I was never indifferent, Serena. But in my own defense, I didn't know until yesterday whether I'd even have a company. After I was sure I did, I offered Mikou half my stock. But you know that. You know he turned me down, said we'd work something out that was fair."

"You—you're a liar," she stormed. "I don't know any such thing!"

She saw doubt flicker in his eyes. "I'm sorry. I honestly thought he'd told you." He ran a distracted hand through his hair. "Maybe he didn't say anything because I also said I loved you and I was going to ask you to marry me today." His lips lifted in a melancholy smile. "Possibly he thought I'd want to tell you, myself. He wouldn't be the first person in your family to make that mistake."

Something Mikou said this morning came rushing back to her. He'd winked, remarking cryptically, "Jeannie and I have a surprise for you, Messy Miss. But not here and now. If I don't miss my guess, it will find you." She'd been confused, but promptly forgotten it in her happiness for them. Could Grandpa have meant _this_?

Brooding, tender eyes ranged over her face. "Forgive me, Serena. I guess—" He broke off, his voice rough with emotion. Clenching his jaw, he got himself under control. "I guess I went about this backward. But the minute I saw you, I think I loved you."

Her breathing became shallow and painful, her whole body trembling. So much was happening so fast, she couldn't think. With a perplexed shake of her head, she cried, "It can't be…"

He wiped one hand wearily across his face. "There's been a lot of lying in our relationship, but this isn't one of them." Closing the distance between them, he took her face between his hands. "Serena, my grandfather made mistakes, my parents made mistakes, and so have I. I've had a twisted idea about love, marriage and family. Btu seeing you with your grandfather, watching you go to impossible lengths to help him, experiencing your loyalty through him—all that has shown me that it doesn't have to be the way it was with my family."

There was a bleak, unhappy beauty in his features that touched Serena somewhere she'd never been touched before. He was finally showing her an inner vulnerability that had been buried with his lost childhood, and the sight thrilled her to the depths of her soul. "I do love you, Serena," he promised softly. "If you'll give me a chance, I'll prove it to you—for the rest of our lives."

His fingers were warm and gentle against her face, his gaze hypnotic and loving. The passion she saw glimmering in his midnight eyes beckoned irresistibly. "You brought innocence and loyalty into my life, and I don't want to lose you. I love you and your messes—even your lies because they're only meant to ease the pain of those you love." He lowered his face to kiss first one eyelid and then the other. "I ask you again, Serena. Marry me."

Her thoughts spun and skidded, her senses reeled. "I don't believe you're lying." She sighed, her heart racing with joy. "I don't believe you are."

With a bewitching flash of teeth, he lifted her into his arms. "Oh, you don't?" he queried, a teasing not coming into his voice. "What's the name of this yacht, Serena?"

Confused, she murmured, "_I Love You_."

His chuckle was rich and deep, and she sensed he was once again whole. "I love you, too, baby," he vowed. "And I'll take that as a yes. Luckily my captain is also a minister."

She looked dreamily into his face, at last allowing herself to accept the enchanting reality that he loved her. She smiled back. "That _is_ lucky."

"To be honest, luck had nothing to do with it," he confessed, nibbling at her earlobe. "I interviewed all night. Flew this guy in from California this morning."

A laugh gurgled in her throat. "You should be in bed."

"Suddenly that idea has a certain appeal," he whispered. "Now, kiss me."

She did as commanded, and his lips parted hers in a soul-searing message of undying devotion.

That evening, after a brief wedding ceremony, Darien and Serena began their married life together—no longer make-believe, and utterly devoid of lies. They were lovers destined to be only slightly less contented in the galley, creating gourmet feasts for the palate, than in their marriage bed, creating passionate feast for the soul

THE END……..

* * *

_WHEW…I can't believe I finished that...thanks again sis couldn't have done it w/o ya….okay people you know the drill tell me what ya think, and don't forget to keep a lookout for my next story, Unexpected Guardian...We worked hard on it, we still are to be truthful, and I think it has a decent story line, but I'll leave that up to you to decide…till then :Kaci_


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